Just One and New York, New York
by Skye Feyden
Summary: Just one love, just one New York, New York. One girl must choose between the life she has always known and the life her heart whispers she should have ... Follow as the layers of the city are unwrapped and the people discovered.
1. PART ONE: Just One

Ever-present Disclaimer: If I owned "Newsies," come come, would I really be writing on FanFiction.net? 

The newsies (the real ones, anyway – Racetrack, Kid, etc. etc.) owned themselves.

All others are owned by Disney (alas …).

Jill is mine.

The "Newsies" DVD is mine also.

I will try to update often, with all my typing skill of a good 5 words a minute (and God knows, my typos need to be forgiven as well).

Here we go …

****

PART ONE: JUST ONE

ONE

HER FIRST IMPRESSION WAS THAT HE LOOKED BIG AND EXCEEDINGLY DULL-WITTED.

"S'cuse me, Miss," he said in a voice that was decidedly not lush or soothingly deep, and she noticed when he removed his hat how white his knuckles were as he gripped it.

His eyes were intensely dark as she met them with her own blue gaze. "Can I help you?" she said lightly, although for the last few minutes her insides had been twisting with dread at the unfamiliarity of the scene. The worn hat in her hands, the reality of the threads and felt-like material, kept her firmly rooted in her sanity.

"You seem lost," and he was almost choking with the fear of this confounded stranger before him, she noticed. "I know the area well … maybes I can direct you someplace?"

She wanted to throw up when she glanced around, taking in the sights of the room. _Oh God_, she thought desperately, _this can't be happening, this is not possible, this is not real_. But she held her composure as she lifted her chin and said, "I'm sorry, I'm not from around here, and I didn't see the sign as I came in … what is this place?" All the while she could hardly breathe with the sick feeling in her gut.

The muscles in his face relaxed a bit. "Why, this is Irving Hall, and the best vaudeville show in the hemisphere!" A small smile came over his features.

Putting a hand discretely to her stomach as if to hold her entrails in her body, she felt the sickness now threaten to overwhelm her. _Ah, God, no. _No, this was not happening.

"You look faint, Miss," the boy said and his worried eyes felt as if they were burning through her. "Should I call for someone?"

She inhaled deeply and still she held her composure. "I'm fine, I'm fine, no, just dizzy for a moment." It was not totally a lie.

"Where you from, Miss?" the boy asked politely. The worry had not left his eyes and she felt that if he gave her any pity she would strangle him.

"Excuse me?"

"Where you from, if it ain't disrespecting ya, Miss?" he repeated softly.

"Pittsburgh," she answered. "I'm sorry, I'm Jill." With that she reached out her hand and they exchanged a greeting.

"Mush," he replied, giving his own name. "From New York, as ya see."

She could feel the warmth of this palm and her own hand shook a little with her growing fear. Pointing to a pile of newspapers on the seat, she asked, "What do you have there, Mush?"

For the first time she sensed a faint note of pride in his ever-bolder voice. "Pape, Miss. Latest edition."

"How much?"

"A penny, Miss." he answered and although the reply struck a bolt of fear in her heart she dug around for spare change in her pocket. No penny, but there was a shiny new nickel and she gave it to him.

"Keep the change," she told him and shivered as her fingers brushed him.

He seemed truly grateful. "Thanks, Miss." went the words with a deeply sincere tone and he pocketed it immediately. When he handed it to her, she looked at the date.

September seventh, eighteen ninety-nine.

__

Yeah.

She did not read it then but rolled it up to carry with her. And she still had the hat. Looking around, she felt so very out of place, so lost and alone and confused that she wanted to break down into tears.

Mush seemed to sense her despair and courteously he said, "I'll walk you to where ya need ta go." And although she wanted to resent him because he was giant and clumsy and dull, she found herself glad to be in the company of the respectful boy.

But she wanted to keep her dignity intact and after a moment of comfortable silence she asked as they walked, "I've never been to New York before, Mush. Tell me, where's a good place to stay? My aunt is not arrived yet, back from London, and I have to put myself up."

He motioned in the general direction with the hand that held his hat. "There's a good place on the harbour … stiff price but for a few nights it would be nice, if you'd like that."

"Do you know the name of it?"

"Think it's da Ellis Inn, something like that. Good place. I sell my papes around there." he said amiably, seemingly glad to be of some help. She nodded. "Is that what you do for a living, you sell papers?"

He put his hand and hat over his heart as if reciting some kind of pledge. "Been sellin' for eight years, no lies, Miss. After the strike we's got our fair wages back."

"Ah, the Strike," she said, "Yes, I've read about that."

"It was big news when it happened," he said and the firm note of pride resurfaced. "We made history, I 'spect. All your papes printed the news, then, too?"

He had misunderstood her, but the confusion would be too difficult to clear up with the proper explanation. _No_, she thought, _it was a dark turn in the basement of the museum that led me to the story_, but she said aloud, "A column or two, yes."

" 'A penny is to us the same as it is to Mr. Pulitzer,' that's what our Kid-Blink said, he did." he told her and the pride was growing even yet. "Tough job, but a fine one, now that we's got our wages back." And he was too respectful to pry into her personal affairs.

__

Well, that's fine, she thought sourly. It would be difficult to say anything and not confuse him further. _God, this still cannot be happening, open your eyes_, she urged herself but when she tried to run that violent shudder through her head as she did with some of the more terrible nightmares, nothing happened. _Oh well_, she thought, _some nightmares are like that. When I wake in the morning it will all be gone_.

__

No, it won't, laughed a cold voice deep inside her head but she closed it out.

__

This is impossible, this does not happen, not ever.

The weight of her purse felt real and solid on her arm. She dared not show Mush what resided within the small plaid space: wallet with new paycheck, tiny lovable cell phone; all things of her time.

__

God, now that I think the word, it seems more impossible than ever.

In the city all filled with muted, quiet clothing colors she suddenly felt uncomfortably out of place with a red shirt and denim pants. Her blonde hair hung free and unrestrained and tan and red tennis shoes walked grudgingly along beneath her. She did not look proper, not at all, and she had the alarming thought, _We'll have to remedy that_. But Mush seemed to be waiting politely for her to speak again.

"You can put your hat back on."

"Oh, but that wouldn't be proper manners, Miss," he said, sounding so grave that she laughed.

"Well, where I come from, I'm not used to proper manners." she smiled at him.

"Pittsburgh that bad?" he asked sympathetically. With his careful words she was getting the feel of his personality.

"Not bad, but not great, either. It's very different," she said truthfully.

He nodded in what seemed to be understanding, his intense brooding chocolate eyes showing a full range of emotions. _Yes, very different_, she found herself thinking.

"Always wanted to visit Pittsburgh," he said, "but never found the heart to leave New York."

"You've lived here all your life?"

"At least since I can remember," he said and she heard a new emotion … perhaps it was that of sadness. He did not speak again, and she did not press. He had been too kind to be bothered further.

All around her there could be heard the sounds of the city – horse hooves, the chatter of gathered crowds, the calling of worried parents to their children … the sounds of everyday life. They were, for the most part, familiar to her, except for those sounds which were of another time: the horses, the wagons, the stones of the cobbled streets. From one storefront she even thought she heard the music of a ragtime band, and the sounds at once delighted her. For a moment the fear was gone. But of course it did return.

"Is this Inn much further?" she asked, then instantly regretted her thoughtless words. Now Mush would think he was bad company. "It was a long trip from Pittsburgh."

"Just a block or two. I hope you'll like it. When will your aunt arrive?" he asked politely.

"A day or two, very soon," she lied. Then, more sincerely, she said, "I appreciate your help. It is kind of you, if I haven't said that already."

"No, Miss, you haven't, but don't think nothin' of it." he smiled as if in reassurance. "It's what's right for me ta do."

"People don't always do what's right, though," she said to him. "But it was very good of you to help a stranger out."

"Don't think nothin' of it," he repeated, tips of his ears pleasantly red. "I ain't one to leave a person stranded. There's a short-cut we can take," he said suddenly. "But it's down an alley, and I don't know if it's proper for ya. Would it make you feel uncomfortable, Miss?"

"You can call me Jill, and no, that would be fine. I ain't one to pretend I'm dainty and helpless." she said coyly.

"I dunno if this is a place fit fer ladies –"

"Then I won't call myself one," she interrupted. Her comfort level with Mush had grown greatly and she found herself glad of his seemingly mindless chatter – it turned her own thoughts from her growing sense of panic.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to consider that, in some way, this situation just might, just may, be true.

"So what's Pittsburgh like, if it ain't pryin' too much?" he asked as they skirted through the alley.

She considered. "Loud, and not tremendously clean. I don't live in the actual city, just a little distance away."

"Ah, Miss, I'm sorry then," he said and she sensed the immediate regret which had sprung up. "The harbour's one a'da noisiest parts a'da city."

She smiled. "No, that's fine. I never said I disliked the noise. It's not going to bother me."

"And if you buy a pape tomorrow, you might get the chance a'meetin' some a'da guys."

"Your friends?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yup," he said proudly, and his smile shone. "Best bunch a'guys you ever wanna meet. Not one a'them that isn't great."

"Do they sell papers for a living as well?"

"All of us who live at da Lodgin' House. I'd take ya there," he said in confidence, "but that really ain't no proper place fer a lady!" His eyes widened with his words.

For once she did not argue. _If I'm dreaming_, she thought, _then at least I'm going to end it nice and quietly_. She had no qualm about guys, and no problem being around them, but she wasn't quite as sure that they'd have no problem with her. And maybe it was better that she didn't find out, either. She did not want to wake up angry.

"How expensive is expensive?" she asked, remembering earlier conversation.

"About fifty cents a night," he said and blushed. "Bein' a newsie sho' is grand, but it don't pay so good."

She smiled sympathetically. Her father had just lost his job and things were worse than anyone really knew. "It's alright, I understand."

Again, he was too polite to pry. He simply nodded. "But it'll hold for a night or two. Good place. It's clean and it feeds."

She smiled one last time. "You want me to steal you some breakfast tomorrow, Mush?"

He returned the smile and it was almost ashamedly shy, but very glad. "Yes, Ma'am, and I'll be sellin' my papes down on the harbour!"

She collapsed on the goosefeather mattress, exhausted now both in body and in mind. The sounds of the outside floated in through her open window but she made no attempt to block them out.

__

No, this cannot be real, this cannot be real.

She looked around at the furniture and at her purse. Next to it sat the crumpled hat.

__

No, that can't be true. That can't happen …

But she remembered certain flashes of things, of the museum, of trying to find her way out of the long dark corridors of the basement. Then came the things that the curators never put on display, those things that were part of a dark, forcefully forgotten history .. _the Strike_ …

Her brows furrowed as she looked at the hat.

Wondering, wondering …

God, she had only been lost, what sort of crime was that? And the hat, she had only touched it but for a moment, moved that a newsboy had died in it, protecting his fellow strikers, so said the dusty card next to it.

The hat.

Sweet Jesus no.

But it seemed more plausible now, when she really truly considered it, that something once looked upon with so much emotion and so much tenderness had more attached to it than dust.

It had a part of _him_ attached to it, she thought with a pain suddenly striking her heart. No, that was crazy thinking.

She looked at the hat.

Still wondering, still wondering …

No, best go to sleep and have fun with the dream upon her dreamed awakening in the dreamed morning, if it went so far as that. She should really buy something to wear that suited the times, and something to eat as well. Fifty cents, that was laughable – with the paycheck in her purse she could stay here for over a year and not even break a sweat … would it come to that, however?

__

No, she said grumpily in her own mind and rolled over to extinguish the kerosene lamp on the nightstand.


	2. Chapter TWO

****

Disclaimer (of course): If the newsies were really mine, would I really have to write about them this way?

Sorry the chapter is so long … 11 hours straight with no one swimming in the pool … AND I got paid for every single one of them.

**_Just One (New York, New York)_**

TWO

Her conscience was open before her eyes. Through her lids reddened with stress and confusion and anger, she could see the yellow half-glow of sunlight.

__

Please, let it be over, let it be done, she thought, pleading. _Let it be normal again_ …

And she fired open both of her eyes and smothered an instant horrified scream.

The hat lay next to her where she had dropped it last night on the goosefeather mattress.

"Ah, God no," she groaned and the familiar dread settled like a stone in her stomach.

But it had continued, this state of dreaming, and terrified as she was, she now recognised that even in her fear there were certain things to be done_. What is the saying, that if one dies in his dreams, then he has died in his life too?_ The sun was only half risen, and if she were to steal some breakfast from the Inn and be on time to meet Mush as she had said, she would need some decent clothing.

Brushing her long blonde hair, she tied it back and fruitlessly tried to smooth some wrinkles from her red shirt. Red lent color to her already-tanned skin but for some reason it did not seem appropriate here, not in this prim and proper place that was now residence to her, if only for the time being. Something a little more muted, more naturally pastel … and shoes too, these seemed so far removed from normality that it was laughable_. Oh, yes_, and the pants did not become her … even though her taste was not in skirts and dresses, it seemed that they were about the only proper covering for her long legs.

She slipped from the door and, locking it, left for the street below. A cart of fresh bread and a little fruit was parked in the lobby downstairs, awaiting passing guests – from this she stole most of the bread and most of the fruit, too, and tied it neatly into a cloth napkin that she carried discretely at her side. With a silent thought of gratitude and a quick sly smile she was off.

At such an early hour the streets were not so crowded as they had been yesterday. For that she was glad, knowing now how odd she looked in this city of decidedly few choices in clothing color. At least she was wearing some, she thought wickedly.

She waited to watch the crowd and see where they seemed to go for their clothing needs. It was almost all women, she noted, who went through the doors of Westerly's Dry Goods Shoppe, and the thought comforted her, oddly, as she followed them.

"I say, can I help you?" asked a kindly-looking woman, peering at her over the tops of tiny spectacles.

She nodded, and smiled.

An hour later she walked from the shop – and straight into Mush.

"Good morning to yous, Miss," he greeted with a friendly bow, having removed his hat almost instantly. "You look different." But he said it with an amiable smile.

Her own smile was easy and genuine. "Do you like it?" she asked as she spun around slowly, holding out her arms, displaying the blue blouse and long gray skirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat to top it off.

"It looks good," he said sincerely, then smiled in relief. "I'se was so confused yesterday, seein' that clothin' ons a woman." His face, she thought, was genuinely perplexed.

"I've brought you breakfast." she told him, drawing forth the folded napkin of food. He took it gratefully and nibbled thoughtfully on a piece of bread.

"Saved ya'a pape," he held it out to her. "Nah, don't ya worry about payin'. Gave me more thans enough yesterday, so's this'uns on me."

"Of course it isn't," she snapped, pulling a nickel from her new purse of wicker (she had stuffed the old things in a larger woven bag). "Take this. For helping me yesterday, if not for the damned paper."

He looked momentarily shocked, then frightened, then broke out into the first real hearty laughter she had heard from him. "I never hoid talk likes that froms a goil!"

"Then you haven't heard too many real girls," she said and he blushed crimson. But he refused to take the money, too polite to lighten her purse … and perhaps too proud to accept the charity – especially from a girl.

"S'not mine fer dah takins', Miss." He told her gallantly, head to the side in what added a delightful inquisitiveness to his look.

"Some other day, then," she warned darkly as she slipped it away again. He merely bowed his head his head as if she were the one being stupid now, and he was the forgiving friend ready to overlook it.

But now they had reached a roadblock, she realised, in that with the exception of meeting with him, she hadn't planned the day at all. Mush seemed to sense this, however, and did his best to come with a solution. It was not what she would consider earth-shattering, but his voice sounded half hopeful and half excited.

"I'll shows yah tah dah uddah guys," he said, and his dark eyes shone like that of a three-year-old. "So's yous can have some friends til yous aunt shows up. Dey's real nice, like. Dey's'll help yah out if somethin' happens tah yah."

"I'd really rather not," she began, but he was already starting away, the food in his hand. She had no choice but to follow.

She called out to him as they stormed through the gathering crowds, "I would really prefer not to –"

"Ah, calm down," he said and laughed at his own words. "Dey's can protect yah, Miss. Dey's knows dah whole city, and dey's always ready tah lend a hand ta'a friend in trouble."

She followed. _A valuable connection_, came the thought. She shook it from her head. A whole lotta' nonsense, as Mush would say. And despite herself, and her very best efforts to look angry, she smiled.

"See, dat's dah spirit," he said. "Yous scare me when yous angry."

That really struck a chord … he was giant and clumsy and dull-witted, but he had a heart of gold, it seemed. A built-in vulnerability and a belief that every human was essentially good in nature. _The gentle giant_, she thought and her smile softened again_. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Probably gets hurt more than he hurts others_.

And his friends were probably all the same, all resembling each other so much that one was as good as the next, but Mush was just as likely to be so kind and trusting and naïve to get rid of them … then she felt sorry for him …

"Heya, Mush," said a voice in a smothering New York accent.

"Heya, Race, how's dah day goin'?" Mush replied. She looked up to see a scrappy Italian charmer with an armload of papers.

"Whacha gots dere, Mushy?" the boy asked. His short black hair was oiled back and divided by a barely recognisable part down the center and his lips were now tightly pursed around a smoking cigar. Black eyes studied her, but they were not unfriendly.

"Dis is Jill, Race. Jill, meet Racetrack," he introduced, standing slightly behind her. For an instant she wondered if she was supposed to drop a curtsy.

But Racetrack held out his dirty hand, his cigar in the other, papers now on the ground. "Heya, kid, yah been payin' any attention tah dah tips from dah track?" His voice was a mile a minute.

She smiled. "No, sorry. But if I hear one I'll be sure to pass it on."

"I like 'er already, Mushy," the boy said and nudged Mush with an elbow, the cigar back between his lips. "I can show yous a neat trick wid me cards –"

"This is our very own Racetrack Higgins," Mush intervened, using the boy's surname and Racetrack bowed.

"Dah one an' dah only," the Italian corrected. Jill liked the way he stuck his neck boldly forward, his confident, sly way of speaking. Racetrack lazily issued a few puffs of smoke from the cigar. Pulling his hat back on, he picked up his papers and threw them onto his little shoulder. "Sorry, gots to finish my sellin'," he apologised. Mush laughed.

"Not a good mornin', then?"

Racetrack bristled. "Can't a guy get some readin' done before 'e's gotta woik? And tah tink I puts up wid yous!" He turned to Jill and reclined his head the slightest bit. "If you'll 'scuse me, I gots tah go and finish a'fore me friend 'ere loses 'imself. I will see yous again?"

And although Mush tried to be discrete and not let her see as he nodded his head, he bid farewell to Racetrack before steering her off again.

"Yous gottah 'scuse Race, he still tinks one day he's gonna hit it big at dah track … gambles wid everythin' he's got, and den some."

"It's an odd name, I will say that for him."

"Nah, his real name's Antony, 'cept no one calls 'im dah no more on accounta he's always at dah track, see?"

"Ever win anything?"

"Shoah, 'cept then he goes an' loses it all ovah again. Knows his stuff, Race does, but it alls dah worse off for it."

"I see," she replied. She liked Racetrack already … his personality just made her feel comfortable around him immediately. Only a few people had that talent, and obviously he was one of them. And Mush, for the most part. "Are they all like that?"

"Alls who?"

"All of your friends."

"Oh, no," Mush said and for a moment he looked scandalised. "Oh, no, dey ain't nothin' like to Race. Yous'll see … we's gots Jack, yous could say he's our leader, and Davey, and Blink, and Spot … jus' wait till yous meets Spot. Ever hoid'da him?"

She shook her head. "Can't say that I have. What's so different about Spot?"

"Leader 'a Brooklyn, he is. Fearsome as any wild creature. Doesn't do nothin' he doesn't wanna do, and says exactly what he means, alla dah time. He's one tah make yous scared fer yah safety, Spot is."

Alright … she was definitely not looking forward in any way to meeting this hulking beast, this boss of all others. Well, one thing was for certain – Spot would not control her, and she would not scurry off to do his will each and every time he opened his mouth. He would just have to learn to take some flak from a woman.

"But is this Spot very dangerous?" she suddenly asked. Being fearsome was one thing, she realised, but being downright dangerous was another story entirely. 

Mush laughed. "Spot Conlon scares me, alright, but we's all on good terms. He ain't never hurt us, if that's what yous means. Don' tink he'd ever lay a hand on us, so long's we's gives him his respect and keeps our proper distance."

She considered. "And your leader, is he fearsome?"

His face softened so much that even without words, the answer was obvious. "Jack's like me broddah. Nah, he ain't never made me afraid … made me angry once, when he switched sides durin' the strike, but we's all made mistakes." His words were affectionate but the look in his eyes said much more. _That wounded him very deeply_, she realised as she saw the hurt and the betrayal. _But he really honestly has forgiven Jack, he still loves him more than ever_.

__

It's that belief in the essential goodness of human nature.

__

Ah, how cruel to be so naïve …

"He switched sides?"

"Not by his ownself, a 'course, but he came back so's dere ain't much tah talk about." he finished up. Walking along, he seemed to know every cobblestone of every street, all without effort. _He really has lived here as long as he says he has … but given what we know of each other, what reason would he have to lie to me?_

"Are there lots of newsboys like you?" she asked, looking at him. For a moment he turned back to her and looked her right in the eye.

"Nah, me, I'se one of a kind." he said contentedly and his voice was pitched just a little lower with its softness, the sound feeling much like being rubbed with the grit of worn sandpaper. "But yeah, dah city's filled wid newsies from everywhere, if dat's whacha mean. Me, now, I'se a Manhattan boy, but Spot Conlon, fer example, he's born an' bred Brooklyn. But since the Strike we's all on good terms wid one'nother, so's there's no reason for us tah worry. Dere's enough business fer us all."

"Still a hard living, though?"

"Boy, ain't yous full'a questions!" Mush laughed. Then he grew serious and replied, "I don't tink dere ain't no easy jobs in dis city, no easy livin's, 'cept fer dah big shots, like dah mayhah. If we's weren't out on dah streets, we's'd be in dah mills, and dat ain't no bettah."

She guiltily felt the weight of the change in her purse … but what would they think of coins minted two-hundred-some years in the future? How exactly would she explain that? Aware of the fact that she had already given Mush a nickel, she then remembered how fast she had paid the innkeeper and the shoppe owner … she had all but thrown the money at them and run away. They would think it was counterfeit, and then she would really be at a loss.

"We's begs a little, and sometimes we's goes hungry, but if dere weren't no newsies in dah city, why den, no one would have dah news! Joe Pulitzer might tell had city how to live, how to vote, and whatevah else, but if his message ain't delivahed, den what good's it in dah foirst place?"

She smiled … alright, so maybe the dull-witted appearance was wrong. Maybe there really was more to him then met the eye. Or maybe this was just a moment of temporary genius … but again, maybe not.

"Jack must have said as much during the Strike," she tested.

"Yeah, 'cept he was louder and not so's right tah dah point," Mush agreed. "Likes tah draw tings out, Jack does. Made Mr. Pulitzer afraid, our Jack did."

"I've read about how powerful Mr. Pulitzer was," she told him, hurrying to catch up as his strides lengthened. "You boys brought him to his knees. You must have been very proud."

"Oh, yes Ma'am we's was. Made us selves feel empowered, made us selves feel very important." his voice was firm as he talked. The pride was obvious. "We's was the base a'da food chain, and if our soirvoices dried up, why den, so would dah rest a'da chain! Oh, look now, Miss, here's our very own Jack Kelly and Kid Blink!"

There were two boys in front of them, conversing heatedly in low voices. The taller one with the red bandana around his neck kept gesturing to a rolled paper in his hand.

Mush cleared his throat. They stopped arguing immediately.

"Heya, boys," he called and they straightened up.

"Heya, Mushy," returned the boy with dirty blonde hair and a worn eyepatch. His grin, she thought, was a little malicious.

The other simply nodded, then, after a thoughtful silence, said, "Heya, Mushy, good tah see yah."

"Yous boys, dis is Jill. She's new tah dah city. We's gots tah show 'ah tah New York!"

"Been here long?" So this is the famous Jack Kelly. She could tell why he was the leader, without having to hear another word from him.

He was tall and imposing, strongly built and very handsome. While his face was not dispassionate, and not unconcerned, it was dettached … he seemed to be on a higher level of thinking, a higher plane of mortality.

"No, just arrived yesterday," she answered, choking down the instant intimidation she felt. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Well, dat's real nice," he nodded, and his voice was soft. It was as if every word was a regretful farewell. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Where yah stayin'?" asked the boy in the eyepatch.

"I rented a place down on the harbour," she said and the boy shot a furious glance at Mush. "Just until my aunt arrives from London."

"Hoity-toity, eh?" the boy sniggered and Jack instantly thumped him hard on the back of the head with the rolled newspaper.

"No, not hoity-toity," she forced herself to say firmly, confidently, and she raised her eyes to his single good one. "Don't presume to know."

"Dat's right, Blink," Jack Kelly said scornfully. "Be nice tah dah lady. No wonder whys yous don't get any."

Blink rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, Miss. So where yah from, Miss?"

"Pittsburgh," she answered clearly. If she faced him down, he would never have the right to intimidate her again. _This one_, she said to herself, _I'm not so sure I like_.

"Dat's pretty far," he said and his voice was respectful now. Jack Kelly's word was obviously as good as law. "Got a nice place back dere?"

"Nice enough." she said truthfully. He was still rubbing the back of his head._ For Christ's sake_, she swore at him, _paper doesn't hurt_.

"So what're yous doin' in New York?" Jack asked, and it wasn't that her words didn't interest him, he just seemed a little more distant.

__

This one's a dreamer, she thought suddenly.

Searching for an excuse that would be reasonable, she said at last, "It's just until my father gets back on his feet."

"What, somebody soak 'im?" Blink asked.

"He's just lost his job," she said, then fell to silence. She did not really want to have to say more.

"Oh," Blink said and lowered his eye. "Listen, Miss, sorry about earlier –"

Her heart warmed to him at his words. How had she ever been angry with him? "No, it's alright –"

"This doesn't happen often," Jack laughed and it took Jill a minute to recognise that he had a sense of humour. She smiled – it was an unexpected surprise. "Let him apologise so's we's can all remember such an extraordinary day."

Blink turned crimson and started to mouth an angry word at Jack, then stopped. "S'ere anythin' I'se can help yah wid, Miss?"

A kind offer. "No, but thank you." Blink's temper seemed much like her own, very short and very violent. Was he the trouble-maker of the group?

"So's where yah headed now, Mushy?" Jack asked.

Mush shrugged. "I'se been lookin' fer dah boys, so's Jill here won' be so's alone in dah city."

"Dat's right, Jill," Jack said, and she was pleasantly surprised that he used her name. But then again, he seemed to be on a much more complicated lever than the rest of them. "If yous ever need any help, yous come tah us, and we's'll do whatevah yous needs. I ain't gonna tell yah the city ain't safe, but it ain't no pushovah either. Yous gotta be careful, alright?"

She should have felt faintly annoyed, as she always did when people tried to pretend she was a little girl, but she sensed the sincerity of Jack's offer and understood him to actually be truly concerned. _It isn't his fault he has no dealings with competent women,_ she thought to herself. _He's being kind_.

"Thanks, Jack," she said and surprised herself with the genuine warmth and gratitude in her voice. "I will."

"Yah seen dah Lodgin' House yet?"

"Not yet –"

"Mushy here'll take yah, and yous take note where it is. Anyone gives yah'a problem, you come tah us. Right, boys?"

And as she looked at Blink nodding in agreement, she thought that she did not want to be the one who turned that unnaturally bright look in his eye sour.

"Sorry it ain't no bettah," Mush said, stabbing at the overcooked vegetable on his plate.

"It's fine," she answered. True, it was not the best, but she had not eaten in … _how long_? Hunger.

A sign that the dream was more of a reality.

"Sometimes dah boys'll all comes here and sit and talk." he said, as if remembering sweet times. "So's yous alright wid the boys you seen today?"

"To be honest, I expected a bunch of dundering idiots whose size would well exceed their brains. I did like them." she admitted, at ease with the boy across the table from her. "They were very different than I thought they'd be."

"And yous just met tree'a dem," he announced proudly. She would have thought that the other boys were gold, and he the treasure hunter. Even when he talked about the Strike, he never seemed so proud as when he talked about or was with his friends.

She looked into those chocolate eyes.

__

Heart of gold.

He laughed at the release of tension and put his thick arms on the table. He seemed glad for the company, and she was just as grateful.

"So dah yous like New York?"

She could not hide a smile of true adoration, and she shyly lowered her eyes. "I've only been here two days, and I am a part of it already. I've never seen another place like it." It was painfully honest. 

"Dat's why I'se nevah left. Nevah found it in my heart, I haven't, tah leave. And I'se gots dah boys, too." The smile he gave could have broken her heart. "Yah know, I ain't nevah had anyone but dah boys. Dey's always been I'se I evah had."

"No family?" Her careful voice was gentle and caring.

His smile faltered. "I ain't nevah had no family, 'cept dah boys. Dey's all I can remember, Jill."

The sound of her name from his lips shocked her. Softly she asked, "Have you lived with them your entire life?"

"Oh, no, till I met dem alls I had was myself, an' dat ain't too helpful in a big city like New York." From him, with his giant quivering brown eyes, the truth sounded pitiful. She was sorry instantly, and it felt as if her heart stopped beating in her chest.

"It's good then," she said with a gentle smile, "that you have such good friends."

"Dah best," he told her, and it seemed to Jill that she had never heard a voice so loving.

She herself had a family, two married parents and a younger sister, but her real value in life, like Mush, was her friends. A priceless love, a treasure better than gold or ivory.

"Stills gots me street smarts, dough." he pointed to his head. "All dere, all ready fer dah recallin'."

__

Street smarts. Obviously he was an orphan, then, without doubt.

He smile shyly again. "Sorry dis ain't no bettah."

Although she asked to pay for the meal, he refused and slapped his change down on the tabletop. It was probably the day's wages, she knew, and a guilty feeling swam around in her stomach. But he was proud, and fiercely independent, and she would not wound that, now would she humble those feelings. He was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. _It is nice to be treated_, she thought firmly, _like a lady_.

"I guess yah gots tings yah wanna do before yer aunt gets here," he said, chewing on the last remnants of his supper. "Tanks fer such a good day, Jill."

"Ah, Mush, you were the one who showed me around. And treated me to dinner. The thanks belongs to you."

A rosy shade bloomed magnificently in his cheeks. When they were flushed with high color, he looked even younger than he really was. The idea struck her, and she wondered.

"Mush, how old are you?"

"Me? Well, let's sees … seventeen or dereabouts. Can't nevah be to shoah. But dat's what I'se tinks. I can reckon it up on me fingers." A suspicious look fell over him. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen. No lies, Mister," she said and laughed.

He laughed too. "Why, yous gots a sly sense'a humour. Yah shoah don' look like it."

"Maybe that's why it's funny then." she said coyly. He smiled, and she thought_, He has a nice smile_.

"Thanks again, Mush." she told him sincerely.

"And yous too, Jill," he said, and after a moment of wearing a fumbling look, he reached out a giant hand. It was warm and friendly, and she was sorry to let it go.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said, standing to go.

He grinned mischievously. "Carryin' dah banner!"

"Mushy run off tah dah Lodgin' House, den?" said a voice coated with the fast sly talk of New York.

She turned around quickly. There was a figure sitting on the bench, a paper raised in front of him. As it lowered, she saw dark greasy hair and a playfully malicious grin.

"Mr. Higgins!" she exclaimed in obvious relief. Without Mush, her feeling of safety had disappeared.

"It's Racetrack, dah one an' dah only –"

"So you've told me." she interjected hurridly.

"My apologies den, Miss," he bowed his head a little and then asked again, "So's Mushy's gone?"

"For now, yes. Well, you can't expect me to tag along behind him all day!" she shot irritably. It was oven-hot, and her thick, extraordinarily heavy new clothing was beginning to itch miserably. She tugged at the collar of her blouse and unbuttoned the first few buttons. "This stuff, these damned clothes –"

"I'se can help yah outtah dem," Racetrack's grin was still deliciously malicious. She grinned back. Now here was a wonderfully hot-blooded boy, a true specimen of the male species.

"You only wish you could," she said with her grin never fading.

"Ah, dat'll be Mushy's job," he said regretfully.

"That's no one's job but my own," she returned, more serious now, in a subtle warning.

"'Scuse me, Miss," he apologised. "Maybe I'se bein' too bold wicha."

"No, no, by all means," she scratched at the collar again. "It's all in good fun."

"Pittsburgh shoah must be a diffen' place den New York," he shook his head disbelievingly. "Any proper lady'd be scandahlised if I talked dat way tah dem."

"Then I'm proud not to call myself a proper lady," she said, clenching her teeth as she tugged again at the collar. She had never imagined the outfit would be so uncomfortable. _I was_, she thought irritably, _dead wrong. And I'll have to buy another one for tomorrow_.

It was a genuinely surprised smile that he gave her. "Why, den, yous sayin' yous a man? 'Cos dat's a right propah shame if dat's da case."

Racetrack's sense of humour was direct even when it alluded to certain points_. This is the joker, the gambler; Mush is the shy one, the optimistic, shining-eyed child; Blink is the volatile fighter; Jack is the dreamer._

"No, I've just got the occasional manners of one," she answered honestly. "Sorry if I'se bein' too bold wicha."

He laughed, a wonderfully easy sound that she immediately loved. "I'se can talk tah yah like I'se can talk tah dah boys. Why, what a diffen' kind'a lady yous are!"

"I hope it's a good kind of different." She dropped down on the bench beside him. He had respectfully removed his hat long ago.

"So's you's palin' around wichim, wid Mush, dat is tah say?" he asked, opening conversation.

"He says he isn't one to leave a person stranded." She shrugged. "I've been to New York before, once for a few days. This is new to me, and if he hadn't helped me, I'd still be standing in New Irving Hall, waiting for someone to say a familiar word."

"Yeah, well, Mushy's dah big soft one, the hoirt of gold," Race said. "Alla dah rest a'dah boys ain't kids no more, 'cept for Mushy cause he can still get away wid it."

"Why him but not the rest of you?"

"Dat boy's phenomenal. I dunno, dere's just sumptin' tah 'im dat dah rest a'dah boys don' have. He's still dah kid a'dah group, yah know? Gets hurt real easy, see?"

"Who's hurt him?"

"Well, you sees, Jacky kinda sold us out durin' dah Strike … an' don' get me wrong or nuthin', cause I love Jack, but when'e went scab on us, I tink'e kinda broke Mushy's belief in dah goodness a'dah human heart." He put his hand on his chest and even through his sarchasm he sounded sympathetic and a little sorrowful. "An' den, when Jack came back tah'ar side, I tink Mushy was dah on'y one tah wipe dah slate clean. Don' get me wrong, we's still love Jack, alla us, an' we's still follow Jack, but it's hard not tah remembah what'e did tah us. But I'se borin' yah wid stories, ain't I?"

"Does it look like I'm in a hurry to be someplace?" she asked him. "Unless you need to leave …?"

"Sold all'dah papes I'se can sell taday," he said sadly. "Jack Kelly I ain't. An' I don' gots no money tah take tah dah track. Sad day fer us alls."

Her stomach squirmed again, and the weight of her purse seemed very heavy on her shoulder. But the coins, the coins … minted so far in the future, what would he say if he saw? 

__

He would laugh because I'm dressed up so proper and I speak so cleanly and all along I've paid my way with counterfeit change the way the criminals do … I am not who I say I am, just a lowly street rat pretending to be great.

__

Have I, then, accepted that this is real?

And for the second time, she deeply considered that indeed this was a reality.

__

Not a dream.

__

No, things like this don't happen.

Racetrack had produced another cigar and lit it in one fluid motion. "Yah swear, yah joke, yah smoke too?"

"No, but I could try," she laughed. "No, thanks, though."

"Don' mind if I do, den?" he asked, already exhaling a long puff of smoke.

"No, no, doesn't bother me." she dismissed the question. "I'm used to it."

"What, sittin' around wicha bunch'a smokin' guys?"

"Yeah, actually." She grinned at the second surprised look on his face. Then he shook his head and spoke.

"So's what's new wichyou, kid?"

"Kid?" She smiled in spite of herself. "Nothing really. Just on my way back to my apartment."

"What brings yah tah New York?"

"Here to see my aunt. She's coming over from London."

"She dyin' or sumptin' dat yah gottah see 'ah?"

She could not help but to smile around Racetrack and the blatantness that so defined his personality. "No, no, she's going to take care of me until my father gets things straight again."

"Got hurt?"

"No, and no one soaked him either, if that's what you were thinking." She smiled wryly. "Lost his job, and my family is struggling a bit."

"Ah, I see," Racetrack said. There was no sarchasm and no mockery in his voice this time, only seriousness. He sighed and seemed to exhale the words, "So's yah's livin' in New York." It wasn't a question, just a simple statement.

"For the time, yes." At least it wasn't a total lie. They were all struggling, yes, and the cashed paycheck which she carried even now was to go straight home to help out with some growing bills. But they had never arrived, no, and the trip to the museum had wrought some extraordinary changes for her.

__

No, this is not_ real_.

"Ah, New York ain't no bad livin'. 'Nough room fer us all, an' plen'y 'a stuff tah do when dah day's toirnin' ovah. Yah said yous was in Irvin' Hall? Did yous see Medda?"

"No …" she said uncertainly. Those first few moments of realisation were blurred with confusion. "I think … I think I went in when – when the show was over."

"Ah, well, we's gots tah get yah tah see a vaudeville show. Assumin' yer aunt don' mind yah hangin' around wicha bunch'a dirty newsies such as ourselves, a'course." His glance was sly again.

"There are worse people with whom I could be hanging around." She studied his black eyes for a moment. "She won't have a problem with it."

__

But what about when she never shows up?

"So whacha doin' taday?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Getting fitted for a new set of this stuff," she said, tugging again at her collar, once more aware or how itchy and uncomfortable it had become in the heat, now that the talk had turned back to such things. It was not a gladdening topic.

"Wish I'se could get some new stuff like dat," he scratched his neck. "I been livin' in dah same stuff fer dah longest time. Can't remembah when I'se was fitted last."

"But you had to have grown," she said, looking at him.

"Yeah, an' dah clothes seem tah have grown wid me." he sighed sadly. "But I'se can hear dah track callin' me every time I'se tinks about new clothes." Then he turned to her. "Need me tah walk wichyou any place?"

She glanced humourously at him. "Do you really think anyone's going to mess with me?"

"Hey, can' says I didn' try," Racetrack said and shrugged his shoulders. "If I'se wasn' such a nice guy, an' yous such a pretty goil, I wouldn'a asked."

"Right," she laughed and stood. Racetrack was about an inch shorter than her but by the way he carried himself, he could have, like Mush and Jack, towered over her. She liked his confidence, his way of speaking directly. There was almost nothing left unsaid by Racetrack.

"I'se'll see yous off, den," he said and took a momentary drag on the cigar. He exhaled slowly, lazily. "See yah tamorrah."

"Goodbye, Racetrack," she smiled and was gone.

And when, at last, she was walking along to find a place to be fitted with new clothing for what may blossom into the next day, she found herself feeling very alone without Mush and without Racetrack.


	3. Chapter THREE

I still do not own _Newsies._

Jill is still mine, as is the said DVD.

A HUGE THANKS for the reviews … I was so glad to see some good comments … very, very much appreciated.

**__**

Just One (New York, New York)

THREE

The first thing she clutched when she rolled over that morning in the streaming sunlight was the hat.

The hat.

__

No, still not real. Still can't happen.

She threw it against the wall.

Her red shirt was crumpled, having been slept in, and her hair was in disarray, and greasy now from not having been washed. There was a letter stuffed in the bottom of the door and when she quickly opened the heavy wooden barricade, she saw that her new clothes had been delivered. It would be wise to later tip both the tailor and his delivery boy.

She dumped them on the bed and felt the urge to really use the outhouse. But she couldn't risk the trip, she knew, looking the way she did now. Not clad in her underwear with her hair all dirty and a wrinkled bright shirt. No. That would not do.

As quickly as she could she brushed her hair and tied it back and laced up all the undershifts and then the short-sleeved simple white blouse and long brown skirt. Around her middle she tied a thick brown sash and them donned the hat. Perhaps she could find a place to bathe, too, today.

She all but ran down the hall and stole all the food she could take in one swift swipe then charged through the door. Leaving everything except her purse on the brick wall next to the outhouse, she leapt in and when she left her bladder had returned to its normal size.

All she had to do was wait and listen to hear the shouted headlines from her friend. The supper he had bought for her was still sitting uneasily in her stomach and an occasional wave of sickness rose up to threaten her stability. But it was food, and it satisfied her aching hunger.

For a few moments she sat, alone, watching the people of the city as they passed. And more than being alone, she felt it. Try as she might to amuse herself, the simple truth remained -- she was very lonely.

But the city was not barren, and it was not desolate. It was full of noise, teeming with life. All around her ran laughing children and the windows above her were thrown open one by one to reveal smiling faces, freshly, gladly meeting the new day. She waved at a few of these but tried her best to ignore the rude calls of, "Heya, sweetface!" or, "Come ovah here, lovely!" from rude young men. She wished Mush were there to shield her from the unpleasant, humiliating attentions.

And she wished Mush were there because she was lonely.

The shops were just setting up and opening their doors to customers and she could smell breads and pastries baking in hot stone ovens, the old-fashioned and perhaps best way to bake. Last night before she had gone to sleep, she had rubbed her change in the dirt in hopes of taking away the shine and making it look older. If only they could pass for the coins of the times…

"Heya there, Jill," called a familiar voice and when she turned she greeted him with a radiant, thankful smile.

"Heya there, Mush," she said simply.

He still carried his hat as a show of respect and kept a respectful distance from her. She wished he would move closer so that she could feel the heat from his naturally creamy body, so that she could be assured of a friendly, protective presence in this big, bustling city.

With Mush she felt comfortable.

With Mush she felt safe.

"Sleep well?" he asked kindly.

She had felt to afraid, so lost, so alone … "Well enough. What about you, Mush?"

"Nevah get a decent sleep in dah Lodgin' House. Not on dose beds."

"If you want my apartment at the Inn, I'll gladly get another," she offered. "It's not bad."

He blushed crimson again. _Is he the only one who blushes?_ she thought furiously. _Well, Racetrack said he is the kid of the group. It does make him innocent._ Then, more seriously, _Is he?_

How innocent is he, exactly?

Or is this all just an act?

She glanced at him. "So who'd you see last night?"

"Race had a good game'a pokah goin', so's I jumped in an' tried a few han's."

She raised her eyebrows. "How did you do?"

"No one wins against Race. Fer alla dah back talkin' he gives us, he's a good guy. Even let me keep summa my losses, jus' 'cause he said he felt charitable. Great guy, Race."

"Yeah, I talked to him yesterday."

Mush nodded. "Yeah, he told me. Said he tinks yous a real nice goil, Jill. Likes dah way yous ain't afraid'a sayin' dah truth. Yah know, it ain't easy tah talk tah'a lady. Dey's always so scared'a not bein' proper an' everytin' I say ain't the proper thing."

"I think it's plenty proper." she replied truthfully. "You've never said anything but the most respectful, eloquent of words. You must attract the attention of a million girls."

"Some, but none dat are real tough, like. Yah know dah kind I'se talkin' about?"

"You mean you can land cheap whores?" When he nodded, she said. "That isn't true. I mean, it is, but you could have others too."

"And I do, but dey always turn out tah be dah wrong kinda goils. Yah know? Like dey seem all great and all nice and den sumptin' happens an' when 'sall over an' done, dey ain't great an' dey ain't nice."

She wondered faintly why he was telling her this.

__

He's probably landed a hundred skirts.

And gotten inside every single one.

He's a guy, guys like that sort of thing.

… and he probably gets hurt more than he hurts others.

She shook her head. _This is how he does that, how he weaves this magical spell. All he has to do is to proclaim his innocense, smile a few times, show some respect. And everyone falls for it at some point or another._

Even me.

Fool enough to believe it.

And besides, she hardly knew him at all. He could have been the worst tempered, most vile creature and how would she know? She wouldn't, simple as that. Blinded by that white smile and that strength in his build, she would never know.

He was looking down at the ground. "Maybe I'se talkin' too much," and he didn't meet her eyes as he spoke now. A feeling of shame flooded her and she was suddenly very aware of herself, of her body and of her none-too-graceful movements. This kid, though, this kid was the most graceful, most fluid, most wonderfully aesthetic young man she had ever seen. Her feeling of inadequacy was extraordinary just then …

"I still got me mornin' papes tah sell," he said, his voice quiet with shame and embarrassment. Pity rose in her heart again and she swore silently at him. _Damn him! Look at that, how can I be angry with that?_

"I'll come, if you'd like the company," she offered.

__

And would you laugh at me if I told you I am lonely?

His face brightened a little. "If yous can stand dah walkin' I'll be glad tah have yah."

"Walking is about the best thing I can imagine right now." The hard ground felt good beneath her feet and her stretched legs felt better already. It was still early morning and the day was not yet hot, a slight breeze blowing in off the waters of the harbour. There was a strong smell of fish in the air and she could hear the bells of boats slipping silently almost silently from their moorings, cutting a soft, lapping path through the murky water. No wonder Mush liked to sell here. This was a good place, full of life and strength and color.

He gave her a paper and as she trotted along behind him, she folded it and scanned the contents. Once or twice, with a guilty and yet a slightly sly look to his face, he explained from where his shouted headlines came, and for sure there were _not_ from the paper. But this was his trade, and whatever he needed to say she would let him. This was his trade, and he was very good at it. She would not begrudge him the money that came his way. Racetrack's words were still fresh in her mind.

"Mayah seen dancin' wid neighbor's wife!" he shouted, brandishing a paper above his head. "Dat's right, folks, dah shockin' story of betrayal righ' here!"

This seemed to interest several people and they bought papers, each flipping through the contents before settling on a story that interested them. Mush had sold most of them already, and with only a few left riding high on his broad shoulder, it wasn't long before he was done and leading her away.

"Yous want to see sumptin' neat?" he asked, already turning to make his way through the crowd. Even if she had said no, she would have followed anyway … where else did she have to go?

They strayed to an alley which was none too clean and none too good-smelling, but Mush seemed quite at home as he placed an unfinished board of wood across two barrels. "Here, take a seat," he told her quietly before sneaking over to a window and opening it the slightest bit.

She had been tired and hungry, scared and alone, and more than anything she wanted to go home (_Still not real_, half her mind screamed while the other half was agonisingly numb at the prospect of this new reality). The thought of money had been worrying her, as had the thought of hygiene, but as Mush silently opened the window, a soft music filled the air and her mind went blissfully blank, filled with nothing other than the sound of the strings and the beautiful lament that rose up from them.

"Mush--"

"Sometimes dey play in dah mornin's before dah day gets too busy," he said softly, and smiled at the look on her face. "Sometimes when I'se done in dah mornin's, I come 'ere an' listen."

She closed her eyes … how had she ever worried? This music stirred up a deep feeling of contentment, a deeply satisfying silence of her own mind …

And that Mush enjoyed it too was all the greater gift. This was beautiful, this was … this was _wonderful_ …

"How 'bout we's have some breakfast while we listen?" His voice was soft, molding to the needs of the situation. It sounded so perfect for him to use, and she envied him for that.

"Of course." She dared hardly speak above a whisper. With slender fingers she unwrapped the cloth napkin and spread it out between them. He moved closer.

__

How many other girls has he done this for?

She shot a sideways glance at him, full of suspicion. His naturally sympathetic, naturally innocent face was filled with thoughtfulness, a distance in his eyes that showed how intent he was on the sweet sound which had drawn him in so totally. She wanted to ask him, wanted to know, but a single spoken word and the magical moment would be broken … and with that caressing sound, her evil thoughts were fleeing, scattering like frightened deer …

"Why does it sound so sad?" she whispered, forgetting herself with the flow of the chords, the cascading simple harmonies.

"Dat man playin' dah violin just lost 'is foirt baby to influenzah," Mush answered in a low, sad voice without looking at her. His eyes were still glued to the window as if he could see through the wooden shutters. "I hoird dem talk about in when dey was all together one day. He ain't been dah same since."

She nodded, breathless with the emotion in the music. Each note was lingering, agonising in its fullness. At long last, the final note ended and she could hear shuffling inside the room as the men went to find their belongings. A low buzz of conversation drifted through the window but the words were indistinguishable.

"It was real sad when dey lost dah baby," Mush said into the comfortable silence. His voice had a roundness to it that gave it sincerity, real genuine emotion. "A little goil, just a couple'a months old. Dey buys papes from me sometimes," he added and she understood that was how he was familiar with them.

"What was her name?"

"Emma, and she was a real pretty little thing, too," he glanced over at her. "When yous gets tah live here long as I have, yous gets to know dah people around yah. Each a'dems got a story, an' they's all differen', too." Then he smiled. "I'se must be soundin' crazy tah yah --"

"No, no, not at all." She tried to see in the house through the tiny opening in the shutter. "I wonder what they look like --"

"Handsome faddah, pretty muddah, tidy home." he told her. "Dey's a real nice family, I was sorry tah see bad t'ings happenin' tah dem."

She nodded. "They sound like good people."

He turned his head to the side a little so that she could not see his eyes. "Dey fed me sometimes, when t'ings got real bad fer us durin' dah Strike. Always treated me good, dey did, just like a son an' everythin'. Dah Rosemonts. Yeah, dere good people."

It was as if worlds collided when she made a daring gesture and touched his hand. When he swung his head around, she could see the pain in his eyes.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, no," he said. At the exquisite look of emotion in his eyes she felt all her powers of speech dry up. "Dey knew me muddah. Showed me some old photographs'a her when she was real young an' real pretty an' all."

"What happened?"

"Nevah asked," he rubbed his eyes but she could not even see any redness in them. "Don' wanna know. If anyt'in', I'se likes tah tink she died havin' me 'stead'a abandonin' me tah dah streets."

She felt terrible for having asked. "Why would you ever think that?"

He swallowed -- she saw the muscles in his throat move. "Dey's nevah told me. Showed me dah photographs but dey ain't nevah told me how I came tah be livin' on dah streets. Offered tah take me in, but dey don't got enough money tah be supportin' extra people." He picked up the last piece of fruit on the napkin. "Mind if I have dis?"

She stared at him. Then, with a snap back to her senses, she said, "No, no, it's all yours."

__

So that was how it happened, how he was orphaned. He just poured his heart out to me … and all this time I've only worried about myself … the thought affects him so much he can't even show his feelings at it anymore …

It had been a small breakfast to begin with, and because she had given most of it to him, she was left with the pains of hunger in her stomach … _he's got it so much worse, though …_

He took her past the Lodging House that day, and they had a very very light lunch and then an even lighter dinner. But it was after they had parted, when she was alone in her room and the lights were out and she was standing poised on the edge of the cliff of restfulness that she really considered his words … he had told her things, things that hurt him …

…Was it trust, then?

And it seemed to her that as she lay in the darkness, staring at the wall she knew was there, she could see Mush's smiling face on the pillow beside hers …


	4. Chapter FOUR

Alright, gotta do this now --

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MegabeeAthlete: I made you cry? Seriously, that is one of the highest compliments I have ever been paid. That is wonderful. My whole day just rose a thousand points thanks to you. And about me being a … how'd you say it, an "awesome writer"? THANK YOU a million times over. Keep reading for me!

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pretzel: I love when people start reviews out with, "Oh my goodness…". It makes me feel as if I am writing something that is really worth it. I appreciate your review so much and keep following, I need some feedback!

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Ivy: You know what I am going to say … thanks, kid. Oh yeah, and DON'T USE MY REVIEW PAGE TO BUG ME! Just kidding. Make some suggestions, I need them. 

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Kyra: My very first review! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and hopefully you have followed through! I was so scared to read my reviews, so thanks for starting this off right and making it a positive one! Keep reading!

So yes, THANKS again for all my reviews and keep telling me if I am going in a good direction … I know how I perceive the newsies, but how about you? How is my characterization compared to what you know of the guys? Let me know! Thanks again!

AND … as I wrote the last half of this chapter and the first part of the next, I was about an hour away from my home (and computer) on the Allegheny river for the weekend. I walked about two miles earlier today to find a nice little spot with a waterfall where no one could find me while I wrote, so I was able to finish up the chapter finally. Sorry for not updating in a while!

(STILL do not own the newsies … don't see when this is going to change, either …)

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Just One (New York, New York)

FOUR

DAY FOUR AND SHE STILL HAD NOT BATHED.

The thought of going another day without washing made her sick. Thank God for the deodorant and toothbrush (and travel-size toothpaste!) which had been conveniently stowed in the inside pocket of her purse, thanks to a friend who hadn't had the foresight to leave Starbucks before curfew to drop her off. Thank God they had been able to give her extra toiletries in the morning!

She wrapped her red shirt around her head and sighed, standing exposed in her underwear.

__

Think.

Think.

Think …

I'm paying enough a night for a room here that I might be able to ask for a washtub … yeah, that's right, she thought with growing confidence. _They should be able to give me one, all filled with clean water._

Without bothering to do anything more than brush her teeth and slip on a blouse and skirt to cover herself, and without bothering to remove the red shirt from her head (Let them think of it as a turban if they have to), she strolled briskly downstairs where various travellers were eating an early breakfast. At the desk in the front of the large room sat a man writing records with a dull pencil. One time she cleared her throat and gave him exactly three and a half seconds to respond before she prepared to do it again.

He looked up sharply on the first clearance, however, and she relaxed.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"I need a washtub," she said, trying not to look, or sound, as uncertain as she felt. "With water."

"A washtub?" The man had a peevish voice. She thought she would slap him if he had decided to follow that with, "With water?" But instead he asked, "A room number, then, Miss?"

"One-hundred nineteen," she told him, relieved. Water was better than nothing. Maybe she could find a specialty shop later that carried shampoos of sorts … did they have shampoo this far back in history?

"It will be right along, Miss," the peevish clerk looked at her as if he were half-asleep or in some kind of drug-induced haze. "Good day to you."

As usual, the first floor was filled with all kinds of dining guests and she watched over a few of them as she slowly, sleepily climbed the stairs to her room. This place was a stopover for the passengers on the trains coming through the city. Naturally, there were frequented tracks by the harbour so that imported goods of all kind could be easily packaged and shipped quickly. It all made sense, and she realised that Mush also must have liked to sell here because of all the travellers staggering through the corner of Manhattan. Just like her they would all be eager for news.

So what now? She should just wait for the tub? _Ah, how nice it's going to feel to be clean again …_

Sure enough in the matter of a few moments, there was a crisp knock on the door and as she opened it a great iron washtub was rolled inside and a few maids followed, carrying buckets of hot water. The tub was tucked away in a corner and filled and she was supplied with a cotton towel. They left in a hurry after she had tipped them for their services.

__

Iron washtub? I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't this …

She studied it for a moment. If she didn't get in now, the water would soon be cold and it would all be a waste.

Unwrapping the red shirt from her head, she felt the thick golden strands now dark with grease and grime. She shot a glance over to the tiny tube of toothpaste that sat on her tiny sink … _yes, toothpaste has grit in it._

She squeezed just the tiniest dot of the gritty blue stuff on her index finger and rubbed it suspiciously with her thumb, considering … 

__

But would it come out of my hair then, too?

She frowned, looking at it, feeling it between her fingers. She needed something to really scrub the grime from her hair, and this could work … _argh, but that's sick, toothpaste as shampoo_ …

__

What else is there to do, though?

With a new tightened resolve and a hardened determination she pulled the curtains shut and stripped down. The water was still hot and she flinched slightly as she stepped in. The toothpaste lay open on the floor …

__

Now or never, she thought, and squirted a glop into her palm.

Afterwards she wrapped the towel around herself and brushed her long hair. It felt lighter, cleaner, much smoother, although she still felt unhappy at having used something so unconventional to clean herself. _Well, no shame_, she thought and mentally shook her finger at anyone who dared to criticize. _You come here with the things I have and you do better_.

She hummed a bit of a song as she combed her hair and dried herself off. The noise of the city was already growing louder with the passing of the morning and she regretted that she would miss Mush selling his morning papers, although a day to herself was nice and now she was clean. But she only had two real outfits and as she laid them out, she felt a surge of self-consciousness and decided to switch the skirts and tops_. There, two more outfits and the problem solved._

Her hair was still wet and hanging free as she stealthily made her way down the stairs to the dining parlour below. Most of the tables had cleared and only one or two remained occupied, so she sat and quietly opened the menu. Nothing looked appealing, but because she knew she needed to eat, she dutifully swallowed some breads and cold breakfast meats. After a glass of milk, she put some coins down on the table and left.

A pleasant blast of heat struck her upon leaving the front doors -- she was always cold and the warmer, the better. And the heat would dry her hair for her. Now, though, all she looked forward to was seeing some familiar faces.

And it wasn't long before she found one. He was leaning back against the pole of the street lamp, hugging his knees, his head back and his eyes shut, relaxing in the warmth of the noon sun. She crouched down next to him and moved close to his ear.

"Heya there, sweetface," she said in a quietly teasing voice and when he opened his eyes she stood and laughed.

"Who else would talk tah me like dat?" His eyes crinkled with his smile. "Thought yous was nevah comin' outtah dere."

"I had some stuff to do," she explained simply.

"Ain't yer aunt here yet?"

She shook her head. Now that she was here and independently established, there seemed to be a list of truths to reveal. But all of this was laughable -- who would really believe such a stupid story as one that began, "I've come back in time from two-thousand three …"? No one sane, that was for sure. And from what she had seen thus far of him, Mush was sane.

His face took on a worried look. "Ain't she comin' fer yah?"

She loved the concern in his eyes, that look of simple worry. To herself she thought, _No because she does not exist_ but aloud she only answered. "Maybe."

"I don' like dah sound'a dat," he confirmed as if his word would change the situation. As if he were Jack Kelly. "Maybe ain't good enough in dis city."

"It's all I've got to offer." she replied evenly and looked him straight in the eye.

He seemed intimidated by her boldness and fidgeted as he stood there, then finally turned his eyes down and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'se done sellin' now. Yous was takin' so long I t'ought yous was not comin' tah see me."

Her smile softened. "Of course I was coming to see you. Why would I not?"

He fidgeted again. "Got somet'in' bettah tah do? I dunno. Figured yah just got tired a'dah same t'ing every day."

"Oh, no," she shook her head. "I still haven't met all your friends. And I have no one else to talk to." Her voice grew softer. "I'm lonely."

__

There. I said it.

His eyes widened. "Oh, I had no idea. I'm sorry, I wouldn't' a left yah alone so early yesterday."

"No, no, it was time to myself well spent." she told him. It was partly true -- she had had time to reflect on his words, and she knew now that she would never be able to so much as raise her voice to him, ever.

He smiled in relief. "Good. But since I didn' think yous was comin' tahday, I told Jack I'se would take a message to Brooklyn fer him. Tah Spot Conlon."

"That's alright," she said lightly. She failed to see the problem at which he was subtly trying to hint. "I'll come too."

"No, I don' think yous understands." He appeared very ill at ease. "I'm goin' tah Brooklyn. Tah see Spot Conlon." He gestured with his hands, as if trying to say something without speaking it.

She repeated the gesture with the sarcasm of frustration. "So?"

"So? Dis is Spot Conlon I'se talkin' about."

"Yes, you _have_ made that clear." The irritability was growing in her voice. "I'd like to meet this infamous newsie."

He shifted his weight and looked down at the ground. "Listen, I don' think it'd be so good an idea to come with me. Spot ain't one who's very patient or very polite."

"I'm going," she said with a tone that settled the matter. She knew that he would think her spoiled now, but she would have climbed straight over him to meet this Mr. Conlon of whom they were all so fond. "If he doesn't have a gun, I'm not scared."

It was plain by the look on his face that the whole argument offended him but he would not disagree now. "Suit yourself," was all he could say, and, "Follow me."

She hurried to climb across the docks after him, dodging her way through moorings and giant cargo boxes. The smell of sea salt was strong in the air and the breeze stung at her eyes, but this was invigorating, more excitement and adventure than she had been given the chance at in several days. Even when she had gone to New York before, she had not ventured into Brooklyn, preferring the sights and sounds of downtown Manhattan, and the trip to Ellis Island. Her Serbian grandfather had entered the country by way of Ellis Island and she had been awed to stand in the same courtroom in which he had been declared fit to enter the country. He had died before she was born, but she had heard nothing but the best of stories about him and was very fond of the few things she owned that had once been his. She was very fond of her self-made, collective image of him. 

"Dis Spot, he ain't one tah offer yah a seat or listen tah yer talk or nothin' like dat." Mush warned after a few moments of what was perhaps angry silence. But because he was otherwise so sympathetic, so kind, his anger had no more impact than an unimportant whispered sound.

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Most guys don't."

"Maybe not in Pittsburgh but yous in New York now an' dat's dah way t'ings are run in dis part'a dah world. An' dere's no one here who don't do dat 'cept fer Spot and maybe Race."

She almost felt shy to ask. "Can I see him again sometime, Race, that is?"

The look on his face was unfamiliar to her … it wasn't a scowl, was it? "Yeah, maybe." But after that he fell to silence.

__

This is unlike him, huh? she asked herself in a slightly sarcastic way. But it was probably nerves at seeing Spot Conlon that mellowed him out, she knew without overmuch thought. _If Spot Conlon so much as looks at Mush the wrong way, I'll let him know about it,_ she thought with a sudden fierce protectiveness. Someone else, maybe, but there was no reason in the wide world to intimidate poor Mush. _No reason at all. And I swear, if he does, I'll hit him._

"So what's this Spot Conlon like?" she asked as they walked along. Maybe if he talked it over with her, he would see there was no reason to be nervous. Or maybe he would talk his nerves right off.

His face was set intently on the long pier before them. With his growing anxiety, it seemed that the gears of his mind had to work that much harder to formulate a reply. "Well, he ain't one tah take no nonsense, an' he don' fool around wid matters concernin' Brooklyn. He's fierce, an' he's honest."

"How did he get to be leader of Brooklyn?"

"Oh, he won Brooklyn when he was fourteen or so, but he don' tell us nothin'a wha' happened. We's hoird dah stories but wid newsies nothin' can be taken as truth." He smile in spite of himself, and she thought, _That's him, that's the smile I love_. "An' he'd pro'lly say somet'in' like he killed a couple'a guys fer it."

"I thought you said he didn't lie."

"I said he's honest, and dere are ways'a improvin' dah truth widout lyin', see?"

For every stride of his she was forced to take two. Come to think of it, she preferred not to know what the stories were. "So how old is he now?"

"On dah verge'a seventeen."

"That's it?" And with that answer she began to form a mental likeness of Spot Conlon.

He would be tall, and his build would be very broad, a good definition of strength to it. His eyes would be like cold steel with a brutality that shone out like an unnatural light. There could be nothing but the finest clothing adorning his lean body and to both of this sides, of course, would stand the thickest-necked enforcers in his district. _Typical tough guy, right down to the shining chrome revolver he carried, probably._

But within the half-hour (and thankfully, because the sun was now hot in a way she had never thought it could be), the boundaries of Manhattan had faded away and the boys of Brooklyn were scowling at them.

Panting, she looked at the boy next to her. "Mush--"

But Mush had stopped dead. A shadow fell over his face and his mouth was gaping open in a half-frightened, half-awestruck kind of way. For the first time she felt real fear and moved closer to him.

"Well, well, well," came a voice with deathly softness. "It's Jacky-boy's friend and confidante, and it seems he's brought me a gift."

Jill stood stock-still. She felt the coolness of the shadow now and the voice wove its way delicately around her. Slowly, she raised her head to follow Mush's gaze and the light shone on her face.

Her jaw dropped.

"_You're _Spot Conlon?" she demanded before remembering some semblance of manners.

"Yeah, dat's right," and this time the voice was firmer, had more ice to it.

His eyes were steel blue, but even then she had been wrong because mixed in there were flecks of green. Nor was he very tall. _At all._ His ridiculously wiry frame stood no taller than hers. _He only equals me in height_, she thought. _I know it_.

He hopped down from the platform and she heard iron-bottomed shoes hit the wooden planks.

"Good tah see yah, Mushy," the boy said and spit in his hand. Mush spit in his own palm and shook the extended hand. "Yous comin' from Jacky-boy, I suppose?"

"Dat's right, Spot." Mush answered but his voice was struck through with confidence and relief. "He says his hellos an' everyt'in' like dat. Come from him tah ask yah'a favor."

Spot looked over Mush with criticizing eyes that pierced. Then his gaze flickered to Jill and he looked her up and down.

"I see somet'in' funny, Mushy," Spot narrowed his eyes and Mush recoiled slightly. Mush absolutely towered over the other boy, but even Spot's presence demanded so much respect that physical prowess obviously meant nothing.

"Dis is Jill, Spot," Mush said hastily.

Spot's eyes narrowed even more. "An' so? I don' need no one holdin' up my business dealin's, Mushy."

"She ain't gonna hold up not'in'," he assured the Prince of Brooklyn. "She don' even hafta hear dis if yah don' wah'ner tah --"

"She can stay," Spot interrupted and she knew better than to question his reasoning. Then the Brooklynite cocked his head to the side. "So Jacky-boy's got somet'in' tah say?"

Mush jumped quickly back on track. "Yeah, told me dis mornin' he needed tah talk tah yah. He needs tah know if yous'll meet 'im tahmorrah night in dah old warehouse on the --"

"I know where it is," Spot said. "But what's dis all about, eh, Mushy? What's Jacky-boy hidin' in 'is sleeve dis time?"

"He's askin' all dah leaders from all ovah dah city tah meet. I'se don' know if yous seen it, but widout dah strike tah keep everyone busy, t'in's is goin' back tah dah way deys used tah be." Mush told him. "So's we's is gonna try tah figyah somet'in' out so's no one's gettin' soaked fer no reason."

"Yah mean dah districts ain't gettin' along?" Spot asked. _He has sly eyes_, Jill thought as she watched him. _Very intelligent, this one_.

__

And gorgeous.

Mush seemed to hesitate, then nodded. "Dey's all gettin' ready tah fight again. Dere's nothin' else fer dem tah do. Dat's why Jack's so keen on gettin' dah leaders tahgeddah tah talk. Yah gonna be dere, Spot?"

"Yous knows I always side wid Jacky-boy." Then his eyes flashed. "Longs I know Jacky ain't gonna stir up any funny business an' he ain't gonna do nothin' stupid neither."

"He sent dese," Mush said, digging deep into his pocket. When he pulled his hand back up his fingers were wrapped around two highly polished, painted stones like medium-sized pebbles. "Dey's real fine, Spot."

Rocks? But Spot smiled indulgently and took them greedily, as if he had been waiting for something of the sort. He held them up for a minute to examine them in the sunlight, then tucked them away in his own pocket. "Yous can tell Jacky-boy dey's keepahs. An' tell 'im dat Brooklyn will be dere tahmorrah. Ain't no one gonna push Brooklyn aroun'."

Mush smiled. "Alrigh', Spot. I'se'll tell Jack fer yah. He needs all dah friends 'e can get tah help out wid dis."

Spot did not disagree with Mush's terminology of friend, she noticed. On the contrary he seemed ever-prouder, and when he smiled he looked intimidating, although his smile made him very … _beautiful_. _Strange_, she thought, _that a boy can be so beautiful_.

She went back to the Lodging House with Mush and Jack Kelly was waiting for them. Kid Blink was at his side, Racetrack at the other. She smiled at Racetrack. He, too, she had sorely missed.

"Heya, kid," the charming Italian greeted with his half-smile as Jack and Mush and Blink stepped to the side. It was kind of Racetrack to pay attention to her when everyone else thought matters too complicated for her ears. "Howyah been?"

"Alive," she answered, and laughed. It was so true it sounded stupid. "And you, Racetrack?"

"Please, don' be propah no more." His half-smile was wonderfully warm and friendly. "We's knows eachuddah now, so yous can call me Race. T'ought yous aunt was comin' in tah take care'a yah."

"She will, just not yet," she said with a growing unease. "Do you want me to leave? I will, if you ask."

"No, no, kid," and his sincerity was obvious. But he seemed very tired now. _Unlike him_, she thought, but how would she really know otherwise? "Dis city ain't a place tah be by yousself."

"Jack already told me, and Mush, too." Did everyone think she was incompetent?

But he gave a long sigh and seemed to anticipate her anger. "Don' t'ink I'se offendin' yous or not'in', but it ain't no easy place tah live."

"What's wrong, Race?"

He sighed again. There was a look in his black eyes that she could not recognise. "I'se just a lil'tired, dat's all."

She had nothing else to do but believe him. Changing the subject, she said, "I met Spot Conlon today."

His smile was wearily affectionate. "One of'a kind, Spot is."

"Do you know him?"

"Well." He yawned lazily. "He's friends wid Jack but me an' Spot has gots a lotta history tahgeddah. I don' know wha' would happen if I'se left Manhattan, 'cause see, Spot an' Jack get along but even when dey don' I'se can us'ally help Spot tah see some sense."

She looked curiously at him. "How'd you get to know him?"

"Dat's anuddah story fer anuddah time," he said and although she would have persisted, there was a hint of iron behind his words. "Dat's Jack callin' me. Sorry, Jill. Come an' see me again sometime." That familiar half-smile flickered on his face and she saw the old Racetrack, the charmer to whom she had shyly been introduced by Mush.

The words suddenly came blurting from her mouth. "Tell Spot to lighten up, will you?"

"Spot ain't had no easy life, but I'se'll shoah givem dah message from yah." Race smiled one last time before disappearing behind the corner.

SOMETIMES SHE FELT RIGHT AT HOME IN NEW YORK, in early September of eighteen ninety-nine, although sometimes, when she was alone, she remembered the things she had left behind.

She sat on the corner of her bed with her hands folded meekly in her lap. The curtains were drawn shut, although it was Sunday and the street below was much quieter than usual. In the quiet darkness, she involuntarily saw her home.

Was she sorry to be away from it? There were beautiful friends that she missed, for sure. Her lifestyle had been lived in such a way that she had learned to treasure every moment with her friends, every word, every breath. There was no one in the world she loved more than her friends. Too many times they had saved her from drowning in her own black void, and everyday they made her so proud. Not for anything, any price, any article of _anything_, would she trade so much as a moment with them. She loved them deeply, completely, truly. They were her sun, her moon, and her stars.

Her family? She had never gotten along with her younger sister, so time away from her was very much welcome. Her mother she loved profusely, and at the thought of that comfort she felt pained, but as the face of her father flashed through her mind, she turned her head aside. Spot may have had no easy life, but after all the things she herself had endured, all the sadness and anger and abuse, she knew she was floating in the same boat. Maybe not sitting in the same seat, but in the same boat. Did she still love her father? She was not sure … he was her father, after all, and a daughter's first duty was to love her parents … but when she thought of the yelling, the belittlement, the hitting … the familiar knot of dread tightened in her stomach. It was a secret she kept from the world, a secret that festered in its misery, its own silent pain. It was a secret blacker than hell.

She was glad to be away from his confused hatred.

And here, in this place and time, however usual it was that she had been thrown a lifeline to it, she had found something new, something wonderful. Here she had found comfort and protection and blissful simplicity. Life here was so … _simple_. Sooner or later she would be given the option to go home, and of course she would choose to do so. But she would be sorry to leave. Not yet, though, not yet.

It was a hot night and she pulled on her red shirt. Her hair was soft and all dried now, and she felt ready for a good, long sleep on a comfortable mattress of downy goosefeathers. _A nice room_, she thought as she looked around at the dimly-lighted furniture. _And sometimes quiet is good, but not too often_. She preferred the chatter of her friends, the constant low noise of easily relaxed conversation.

__

But my father, my father …

And as the image of his murderous face arose in her mind, she stuffed her head into her pillow and stifled the thought. Rather she wished she could see the protective, reassuring smile of Mush …


	5. Chapter FIVE

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pretzel: The last thing I did before going to bed (at 11:39 because I am a band geek and had camp all week, mumble mumble) was to give one last shot to checking my e-mail for reviews because I LOVE when people review … and nothing you could have said could have made me any happier. 'Powerful' is exactly the word I want to hear. And 'freaking awesome' isn't too shabby, either, hahaha. Honestly, my eyes just watered at that statement (blame it on band camp and my hours of sleep or lack of, mumble mumble). THANK YOU SO MUCH. You have no idea how happy that made me. THANKS!

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MegabeeAthlete: Thanks once again, I am so flattered it's incredible! And especially thanks for the encouragement on Spot's character, I had a bit of a difficult time getting the perceived personality in my head down onto the paper. Again, a huge THANKS!

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Arte: What to say? I left you speechless? Now THAT is something I have never seen, lol. I will say this, however: what you see is what you get -- I am Jill and Jill is me, there is no difference at all between us. She is based off of me entirely. Thanks for the review. Love yah babe! 

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If you manage to hold on and make it this far, please review for me and tell me how I am doing. Greatly appreciated, as always!

(_The newsies are not mine_, sad as that fact stands. Jill is, however, and now I even have the hat.)

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Just One (New York, New York)

FIVE

It was the evening of the meeting and she sat alone in her room, looking at the hat.

The hat.

She had not touched it since throwing it at the wall that morning two days ago. But she sensed it, felt as if it was watching her with invisible eyes hidden somewhere under all its thread and wool. The fast-setting sun swept over her in this evening, but it did not warm her heart.

The hat.

But she had other things to worry about -- the sun was sinking from its perch in the sky and the meeting would kick up soonly. She had asked Mush permission to attend and see what kind of business into which Spot Conlon had been drawn. At first he had answered with a shake of his head, but when she had asked again with the giant, sad blue-green eyes that she reserved just for him, he had sighed and reluctantly agreed. He was never able to deny her anything, hungry for the companionship of an outsider and one who was willing to have simple, honest conversations. There was no doubt he loved his friends, that was for sure, but there were things he had told her -- those swiftly-spoken words that day he had taken her to listen to that beautiful music -- that she knew one guy simply did not speak to another. He was sweet, he was naïve, and he was staunchly loyal, but he was very conscious of what he perceived to be his dignity.

Mush was waiting for her under that newly-lit street lamp and she drew the curtains shut before leaving her room. Jack had refused, but at Mush's pleading voice, he had relented and agreed. "She won' hurt anyt'in', I'se can promise yah," Mush had begged. "Honest, Jack, I swear tah yah she won' make a sound." She would have jumped in to stand up for herself, but it was obvious that Jack loved the boys he led as much as Mush loved him and to speak a word would have broken the magic that passed between the friends. Jack had nodded. "Alrigh', Mush," he had said in his gentle voice. "Alrigh', but I can't promise dere won' be no fightin' goin' on. Yous gots tah know yous are comin' at yous own risk, Jill." To this she had agreed … even to watch from afar would be worth it. All the leaders from all over New York -- it would be a sight to behold. And she was very interested in Spot Conlon. To her, his character, his personality, his history, were all a mystery still.

The mysterious Spot Conlon.

He was beautiful, but seemed as cold as ice.

"Comin'?" Mush asked, putting out an arm for her to take. She linked hers through it. Usually she was in her room by now, sorting out her state of affairs. It seemed that as the sun set, everything got colder, and much more real … the dream had gone on long enough.

This was no dream.

This was real.

She shivered.

"Yous okay, Jill?" he asked, feeling her sudden chill, and he pulled her closer. "It's a cold night, an' dah warehouse ain't no warmer. Dunno wha's happenin' wid dis weddah. Guess it's dah fall settin' in."

"Yesterday was hotter than the breath of hell," she said, and tried to keep her voice from shaking. She did not succeed.

"An' yous ain't dressed fer dah changin' winds." he said sympathetically. He slid off his long-sleeved blue-green shirt, exposing the worn white top he had on underneath. "Here, dis'll be bettah fer yah."

It was his unbreakable pride and his unfailing courtesy that kept her refusing. Over her own shoulders it was too large and crumpled and did not flatter her at all, but Mush's eyes crinkled with his big friendly smile.

"Thank you," she said, touched. No one had ever offered anything of this sort before … and it felt wonderful to be treated in such an unforgivingly flattering way.

"Don' t'ink not'in of it," he smiled again as they walked along. She received several wary looks from strangers but she ignored them and walked on. _He's only a newsboy_, they said plainly to her, _he's a street rat and he's dirty_.

__

He's Mush, and he's my friend, she answered back with both pride and haughtiness, meeting their gazes. _You'd like to find someone like him. But I have, and that's a pity for you_.

"I'se only seen dis a'couple'a times before," Mush was quiet in his conversation. "But Jack said it needed tah be done."

"Do the leaders listen to him, then?"

He shrugged. "If dey know wha's good fer dem. Jack ain't no pushovah, an' now he's lookin' out fer Spot. Spot ain't had no part in dis, I'se can tell yah that wid no second t'oughts. Spot an' Jack get along real well, since dey both don't take no nonsense."

"If everyone fears Spot Conlon the way you do, that can't be a bad thing for Jack." Jill smiled at him and the look of surprise on his face.

"I dunno if I'se afraid'a Spot so much as I'se not shoah how tah givem his propah respect. Yous know what I mean?" He did not realise his strides were too long for her and she hurried to keep up. "His temper ain't no May rainshower. He's quick tah anger and den his temper can get real violent real fast. I dunno what tah t'ink'a him sometimes. Evah know anyone like dat?"

__

My father … then she pressed the thought from her head. _Not here, not now. It's not my problem to address anymore_.

She only nodded. "And you're not sure how to love him … yes, I understand." Then her voice gave way to silence.

He seemed to know every short-cut, every stone of the alleys as they dodged trashbin after trashbin and pothole after pothole. For a while there was comfortable silence, but she became more and more uneasy as the town seemed to grow shabbier around them. For Mush it may have been fine … he was big and he had muscles but for her … for her it gave an image of another place, another time. Something she for sure did not want to relive.

"Are we close yet?" she whispered.

He laughed. "About anuddah block. Don't be uneasy, dere ain't not'in' tah fear here. Ain't no one gonna hoirt yah here. All dah leaders'a got dere best guys watchin' fer dem … dey gots eyes everywhere tah tell dem wha' happens here."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Just principle, yah know? Not so shoah about Spot, dunno wha' he does but everyone else gots tah keep t'ings runnin' smooth, like."

"Yeah, I understand." she nodded. "Personal guards, kind of?"

"Yeah, 'cept dese guys double as lookouts, too." Then he pointed. "It's dat buildin' dere … see it now?"

But she wished she hadn't seen it -- it was a huge, gaping black hole in the New York City skyline and seemed almost too ugly to belong even to these shanty surroundings. It was old and dilapidated and had obviously been gutted some time ago.

She stared upwards at it. "Is it safe?"

He laughed again and although she wanted to be annoyed with him for it, she loved his laugh. "Best place tah meet in alla dis part'a New York. Solid as a rock, an' poifect fer its purpose. Come on, we don' want it tah start widout us."

They hurried across the open, deserted street and when they reached the pavement on the other side she felt a little safer. What had he said _… eyes watching, watching everything in the darkness?_ She shivered again and he pulled her even closer.

"Don' worry, we's'll be inside an' away from dah breeze," he told her gently. "Dough I can't say it's too much warmer in dere."

"Is the meeting in the basement?" Did the building even have a basement?

"No, it's on dah second floor," he answered, pushing aside a grate of iron to reveal a window just large enough to accommodate a human figure. He had to all but fold his broad body to fit through and then extended a hand to help her in. "Don' trip now. See dah lights ahead? Dat'll be Jack an' dah rest'a dah guys. Dey have all dere best guys wid'em tah help represent dere districts."

True enough, there were packed into the room tables of boys, each dressed in slightly varying styles with signs written to declare names and districts. But one table sat almost empty. A lone figure was brooding over a cigar and a glass of warm water. The ripped, smudged poster propped up against the front spelled out in wavering, sprawling, childish letters, _Brooklyn, Spot Conlon_.

Spot's eyes were dark and fierce as he glanced up at them for just an instant and his hand rose slightly, making the tiniest gesture as if tipping his hat in respect to them.

"Hiya, Jill," Jack Kelly said and touched her lightly on the sides as he skirted around her in the other direction, towards the numerous other leaders. Mush put his arm delicately around her so that she might not be jostled, and Jack indicated an empty seat at a table in the corner. "Yous can sit dere, Jill. I'm warnin' yah, I'se t'inks dis ain't gonna be no propah place fer yah."

"I have no where else to go, Jack," she told him in a painfully honest way. Hard as it was to admit to Mush, or to Race, or anyone else for that matter, she was tired of spending her nights in heavy silence, alone and afraid. Anything to fend that off, anything to hold that burden at bay.

His look was still concerned. "I'se don' t'ink it's a good idea fer yous tah be here --"

"I promise yah, Jack, she won' make no trouble fer yah," Mush broke in, his chocolate eyes quivering with his pleading look. "I'se promise yah dat, Jack."

"Suit yerself," Jack shrugged. "Race's here, somewhere. Always gotta be right in dah middle'a t'ings, he does." Then he frowned. "Can't find 'im now, and it's about tah start."

"I'll take care'a everyt'ing here, Jack," Mush said and his face was all seriousness now. He seemed different somehow, Jill thought, now that the situation too was very serious and very real. Business-like, almost. This was obviously his domain, and he was unbeatable upon the floor of his arena. He knew how things worked, he was very effective in his dealings.

She realised now how resolute this situation was -- each table was packed full of boys from their respective districts, many smoking discontentedly on hand-rolled cigarettes and half-burnt cigars. There were no smiles, no glad greetings. Alone at his table Spot Conlon looked like iron. His hat was low on his head, eyes gleaming out from the shadowed brim_. I was wrong to come_, she thought too late_. I was wrong, Jack was honest -- this is not fun and games, this is dangerous_. They _are very dangerous_.

The familiar voice made her look up. Racetrack was talking in a low tone to Mush, who nodded occasionally. When he finished he slid behind the table and sat. Mush motioned to Jack and Jack came to stand at the head of the room.

He cleared his throat twice and the rumble of discontented noise died down. Hundreds of shifty eyes focused on the lone boy. In the dim light, standing all alone, Jack looked very impressive, very tall, very imposing now. His figure silhouetted in the dim light, silent, he looked like a great thinker. _Odd_, Jill thought, _how a poor newsboy can look so very wise_. It was now no wonder why so many followed him without a doubt, why so many loved him, held him in awe.

"Yous all got dah message tah be here," he began, looking at them. "I'm real glad yah came. We's gots tah talk."

There was a low murmur that circulated through the room like an angrily questioning whisper. Jill sensed how ill at ease the boys were, and it made her anxious. This warehouse was cold, and not just in temperature. What had happened to create this frightening, chilly atmosphere?

Jack seemed different, too, somehow. He was charismatic, of course, as he had been before, but now there seemed a new strength in his demeanour. "Dere's been a lotta talk, a lotta blamin' an' I don' like it at all. We all gots no one but eachuddah, an' now even dat ain't true."

"Dat's 'cause we's can't trust no one!" a boy yelled fiercely. To Jill he looked menacing but Jack was merely impatient.

"Dat ain't true. We's can trust eachuddah. Dere ain't no reason tah start pointin' fingahs at eachuddah. If we's breaks down an' starts fightin' again like we did before, who's tah say dere ain't anuddah Pulitzer out dere somewhere, waitin' tah hit us when we's're weak?"

A spout of noise rose into the air, angry protests, upset remarks. Jack put out his hands to quiet the unforgiving crowd. 

"Pulitzer went down, dere ain't no one who'll try it again," someone yelled as the noise stopped.

"Dat ain't true," Jack said with a voice full of deadly calm. "Dat ain't true, an' yah know why? Dis is why," he said, and slammed his fist down on the table. "Dis is why, fellas. Take a look aroun', whadayah see? We don't gots no one watchin' out fer usselves 'cept eachuddah. An' when dat happens, dere're a million people out dere who don't like us just 'cause we don' fit dere lifestyle. Dey don't like us 'cause we're orphans, an' we don't got dah money tah live."

Another angry outburst. She wished she wasn't sitting on the speaking floor right now. Perhaps is she could have watched from a distance, she would not have felt as vulnerable. But around a few of the tables were newsgirls, though they looked as dirty and menacing as their male counterparts. Faces smudged with dirt, clothing worn and crumpled. She herself was still wearing Mush's blue-green overshirt and it was filled with his scent. A deep breath, and he seemed to be all around her.

"So I wanna know, fellas, I wanna know if I'se should plan tah be here next summer or if I'se should leave now 'cause I know t'ings ain't gettin' any bettah and we's're gonna be undahmined by dah cruel system dat watches ovah us." Jack looked around. "I wanna know who's gonna stand tahgeddah."

There was silence now as he sat and waited, looking at the gathering for some kind of answer. No one spoke until someone stood up and yelled, "Yous gonna tell us who dah rat is, Kelly? Yous gonna tell us who we ain't gonna trust?"

Jack stood to face the question, to give a rare personalisation to the other young man. "I'se can't tell yah that, Meeks, 'cause I don' know no rat. It happened, an' we's all sorry, but I _can_ tell yah that whoevah claims loyalty now will be fahgiven'a dah past." he answered softly as if the former half of his reply saddened him. "So who's gonna stand wid me?"

Again a silence. Then, "Stand wid yah against what?"

"Against dah beatin's dat are gettin' dealt by dose who wanna acuse, dose who ain't got no bettah reason." Jack pointed to his temples. "Dey ain't smart enough tah know dat's a bad idea. We's gotta have bettah reasons, fellas, we's gotta use our brains. We's can't go tearin' eachuddah apart dah foirst chance we get."

"An' we can't go lettin' everyone walk aroun' on us!" yelled someone else, standing to shout. "It happens once, it happens again an' again! Yous of all people should undahstand, Jack, yous got yer boys an' dey's real close tah yah. Don' yah t'ink I'se loves my boys just as much as you love yers?"

"If it happens again we deal wid it in dah right way," Jack shouted back. His voice was full of passionate conviction. "We dunno wha' happened dat day, we can't go blamin' whoevah it's convenient tah blame! Dere ain't no proof tah justify dah soakin's dat are goin' aroun'!"

"No proof!" someone yelled furiously. "No proof? Dere's a body sittin' in dah morgue an' a leader wid one less boy. I'se'll give yah proof, Jack, an' six feet'a ground on top of it!"

This statement seemed to rouse a roomful of immediate, firm concurrence and Jill saw boys nodding and shouting encouragement to the new speaker.

The boy continued. "So yah don' t'ink dat dere ain't no reason fer dah anger, Kelly? Yous ain't evah lost a boy, have yah? Yous is always able tah sit aroun' wid yer friends an' laugh an' joke an' drink, ain't yah? Well, it ain't no good feelin' tah lose someone yah love, either. An' I say, we's gonna soak dah rat and let 'im die in dah streets! Ain't no one gonna push Harlem aroun'!"

There was noise and confusion as the speaker was congratulated and other tables joined in with their support. But one figure had not yet moved, and had not yet spoken.

She had at first expected to see Spot Conlon surrounded by an army of his best but now when he gave rise he was alone and quiet. He stood very straight and when he pushed his hat back without a conscious thought to do so, the room fell oddly silent.

His steel voice was very soft as he spoke. "So yous t'ink yah know everyt'ing, do yah, Meeks?" He paused to look at the boy. A hundred chairs shifted uncomfortable at the brutal weight of Spot's fiercely gleaming eyes. With one hand he pressed his cigar into the dirty ashtray on the table. "Yous all really t'inks yous know what happened, doncha?" But no one could dare to raise his voice against Spot Conlon. "So go ahead, den. Go ahead an' tell me dah story."

There was no one who would answer, however.

Spot was not tall but he was solid steel and he knew it, too. After a moment of very tense, very uncomfortable silence, he said, "Dat's what I t'ought. See, dere ain't one who knows. Dere ain't no one smart enough tah gimme any reasons at all. Yah miserable bastards. Yous always blamin' somebody else an' it was my turn tah be yer scapegoat, wasn' it?"

The whole room seemed to recoil from his words, except for Jack and the two Manhattan boys who listened intently.

Spot spoke again. "So dis is fer you, Jacky. Since yah have got dah sense tah keep yous head outta yous ass, I'm tellin' yah right now, right here in front'a alla New York, I'm on yer side." He pulled his cane out and it tapped ominously in a slow, creaking, ominous cadence alongside his iron-bottomed boots as he made his way toward the Manhattan table. "I say, I'm on yous side, Jacky."

Jack put an arm around Spot's slenderly muscled shoulders and looked around the room.

"Anyone who hoirts Brooklyn hits Manhattan, too. Dere ain't no one in dis room who should try tah do not'in' stupid. So Spot is a friend'a Manhattan. Who's gonna join next?" But when no one said a word, Jack's proud face showed the subtle lines of anger and worry. "Come on, doncha boys remembah a time tageddah when we's was all dere tah defend our own?" He had withdrawn the arm from Spot's shoulders now. "What's wrong wichyou? If we's don't stand tageddah den we's gonna all fall real soon. Come on." and he took a step toward the other newsboys out of frustration. "Come one, tell me yous ain't gonna do not'in' stupid."

"Step aside, Kelly, it's Brooklyn we's be wantin'!" called a menacing gruff voice and this was Jack's cue.

"Mush, you take Jill an' leave. Now." he pointed to the door. Then he thrust two fingers at Racetrack. "You an' Spot, outtah here quick. I'se'll get yah backs."

The tables of boys seemed to crawl forward eerily and before Jill had a second thought, Mush was pulling on her arm and all but dragging her from the room. She felt safe near him, felt protected, as if the room full of angry boys behind them simply did not exist. But there was an urgency to his long strides and she followed without question. She was not sure what she had just witnessed, but she could be certain of one thing: this was bad news for Jack's boys, and perhaps worse news even still for Spot Conlon.


	6. Chapter SIX

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Artemis: Thanks again for the review. And don't worry about me, I am a big girl now, I can take care of myself, babe. But you know you're jealous of the shirt … hahahahaha I heart you!

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MegabeeAthlete: _-sigh of relief-_ I really appreciate your encouragement on my characterization. Big relief right there. Personally I like the way they are coming along but then again I am a little biased, lol. Ah, I feel mellow tonight (soccer camp in 10 hours and counting). Sorry I cannot muster up something else with which to thank you, but this will just have to do for now. THANKS!

This chapter is for all of my (four?) readers … the last one was really short so this should be a welcome change, I think. Have fun!

And remember, please REVIEW for me … thanks!

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Just One (New York, New York)

SIX

SHE AWOKE THAT NIGHT, ALONE IN THE DARKNESS, AFRAID OF WHAT WAS TO COME NEXT.

Moonlight was streaming in through the window and in the silver shapes cast around the room she rolled over and grasped the first thing she felt in the darkness. It was Mush's shirt and it calmed her immediately.

The feeling of panic which had woken her was gone now and she thought, wide-eyed, of what Mush had told her.

"Dey's found a body in Brooklyn wid t'ree bullets in 'is chest," he had said to her in an even, balanced voice. "An' now dey's sayin' Spot Conlon killed 'im even dough Harlem and Brooklyn ain't at odds, really. An' dey's wanna take Spot an' get rid'a him now."

So that was the base of the conflict, the tip of the iceberg … a body and an accusation against the easiest scapegoat -- the district leader. And Jack Kelly somehow felt it was his duty to take it upon himself to protect Spot Conlon, though Jill did not know why. All she knew was that she wished Jack had not drawn Mush, or Race, or any other of the Manhattan boys into the problem. She had seen it tonight -- the other newsboys of New York were dangerous and irrational. It seemed they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted …

__

Spot dead …

But she did not want to see Spot hurt, however. Cold as ice, he was, but probably for good reason, and besides that, he seemed to be exactly the kind of leader Brooklyn needed. His district was his business, his life. Who had done this to Spot Conlon?

At the thought of Mush's face, though, she calmed. Mush, with that placid, even, comforting expression of protection. He had an unflappable temper, a balance to his thoughts that was odd for someone of his size. Underneath all those muscles … underneath all those muscles was the kindest, sweetest person she knew. Her friends were not here but he was, and it seemed a fair trade. After all, he was exactly like them. Not that she would ever trade her friends, but she hadn't really been given the choice, had she? The cloth of his shirt felt soft beneath her fingers and she slowly raised it to her face and breathed in deeply. It was his scent, through and through, and it was as though she felt him with her. She could memorize him simply by his scent.

Still, the uncertainty of the stability of the news distribution apparatus of New York frightened her. She would not have to witness the death of one of its greatest young leaders, would she? As far removed from everyone as Spot Conlon seemed, she knew that beneath all his attitude and talk, when he laid down to go to sleep at night, he was as much of a person as she was, or Mush … what were they dreaming about on this cool September night?

__

Mush …

And she could not shake the thought of him, could not forget that slow, glowing smile. She could not forget his kindness, his sweet expressions of sympathy, his overwhelming naivete …

She breathed in his scent again and closed her eyes …

But rain was now pounding on her window and thunder was shaking the sky. For the first time since she had come to New York City, it was storming. _How appropriate_.

She did not know the time or the day anymore and now, more than ever, she was trapped in this little room with the mess she had created of things all over the floor. Her most important possessions -- her dead cell phone, her money, the contents of her wallet -- were locked inside a drawer in her bed-side standing table to prevent prying eyes from that gruesome discovery. Ever since the Inn staff had come in unexpected and secretive to remove her tub after she had left that day earlier, she understood how direly important it was that nothing she owned could be seen. As it was now the floor was full of blankets and the clothing she had bought; her bed was occupied by her red shirt, the hat … and Mush's shirt as well.

In the storm she could not go back to sleep. She didn't even have anything to read, and when she walked to the window and looked out, there was no one in the street below except for a solitary traveller who was beckoning frantically to a passing carriage. The soggy man climbed on and rode away, leaving the road completely deserted behind him. She sighed.

If it continued to rain she would not be able to see the newsboys, right? And the last thing she wanted was to be alone the whole day -- it was bad enough to be alone every evening and every night. Perhaps if she had something to read, or a pen with which to write … but even those simple pleasures were denied her. As it stood she had no friends, no way to entertain herself. Oh, God, what was wrong with this picture?

And the room seemed smaller every second, seemed tighter and more cluttered. Feverishly she picked up the blankets and folded them and put them on the edge of the bed. She combed out her hair and brushed her teeth and put on the most comfortable of her underskirts and red shirt. It was all dirty clothing by now and today she would go down for a washtub to bathe, and use it to wash all her things, too. She fixed the arrangement of the furniture, she dusted the wooden borders, and she tugged the wrinkles from the curtains. She straightened the lone picture on the wall above the bed then evened out all of the sheets. Everything was set at a perfect angle and when she was done, she stood back, looking at her work. It was perfect -- and now she had nothing else to do until morning, or whenever it was.

A crack of lightning streaked across the sky and she sat in the chair near the window, watching. Thunder rumbled and she felt the floor shake. This was highly disappointing, this storm. What to do, what to do? There was nothing to do. Nothing, except sit and wait … and think …

Her eyes were drawn to the hat now sitting on the bed and she studied it intensely. It was tan and soft and almost able to study her right back; there was no reason to be angry with it anymore, however. What reason had there been to be angry in the first place? She was well enough off, that was not untrue. Over her head was a roof, around her was nice clothing, and under her on the floor below was a kitchen full of food. It could be worse, she told herself as she thought of Mush and Racetrack …

__

But will it take me home, too?

More than anything she missed her friends … they were her love, her comfort, her life … but everything would be alright, maybe time without her would do them good. Sooner or later, though, the hat would have to offer a line back home, wouldn't it? The thought gave her chills -- what if she never went home? No, she was here for some reason, maybe. Should she be learning some kind of lesson? A streak of lightning, a crack of thunder and she jumped. The approach of the storm should have been obvious with the falling temperature.

And now it must have been very early morning as well. The downpour had not relented, however, nor had the thunder and lightning. How long was this going to last? But there was a crisp knock on the door and she leapt up.

"Someone to see you, Miss," the man said. She recognised him as the clerk from downstairs. _Snooty bugger from the front desk._

She peered around. There was no one in sight.

The man appeared to roll his eyes. Perhaps it was just her imagination. "Well, should I send him up to see you?"

__

Him … oh, if it was Mush … "Yes, thank you," she answered, her heart racing. Could he really be so good of a soul as that?

Yes, he could, came the answer when the uncertain gait of the young man brought him into the hallway. She saw him and the smile welled up from the bottom of her soul.

"Hullo, Jill," he said, smiling in relief.

She loved the sound of his voice. "Hello, Mush."

It took her a moment to realise they were still standing there dumbly and she mentally cursed herself. He was not dressed warmly enough, and he was soaked to the bone.

"Oh, God, look at you," she said, turning to go inside. He did not follow. It was his manners, she remembered. He would never not be proper. "Well, come in, sit down. Here," she put a blanket around his shoulders. "Didn't you notice the rain?"

He smiled shyly as if he wanted to laugh but said, "I'se was tryin' tah sell. Ain't good sellin' weddah, dough, an' dah papes was all soggy 'fore I'se even got tah dah harbour. An' I figured yous was still lonely, too. Still ain't fahgotten what yous said tah me." He pointed at his head, looking at her.

The statement amazed her and she for a second was unable to look any way other than shocked. But a smile blossomed magnificently and she sat down on the floor at his feet.

"So you couldn't see your papers today?"

He shook his head. "Gee, I hate days like dis when I'se can't sell. I'se needs dah money -- say, Jill, when's yer aunt comin' in? Yous 'ave been on yous own for an awful long time." His eyes were concerned as he looked at her.

She knew the question had been coming, she had sensed it -- it was now or never. Lying came naturally to her now, though this lie scared her indefinitely. Lying to Mush -- now or never. "I wrote to her and told her I don't need her to come in. I'm doing fine on my own, don't you think?"

"Jill, I don't t'ink dat's a good idea -- " he began.

"It's fine."

"Yous needs someone tah protect yah, tah keep watch'a yah in dis city -- "

"It's already done." she broke in firmly. "She's not coming." It seemed a weak lie, a stupid one, but at least he would leave her alone about it now. She was alright so far -- at least she was fed, clothed, sheltered, and washed. The streets would be worse. "And you've been with me every day, so I _have_ had someone to protect me. Or would you have kept walking had something happened to me?" She smiled up at him.

He laughed, pulling the blanket tighter around him. "For sure, no." he said, returning her smile in a friendly manner. He looked up and glanced around. "Nice place yah gots. Real tidy, like."

She nodded. "For now. Who knows when I'll go home." _And let him interpret that in whatever way he'd like_, she thought.

His face fell a little. "Yeah. Until you go home."

But she did not like when he was not happy. "Say, Mush, have you had breakfast yet?"

He shook his head. "Sold no papes, got no money."

"Well, I'll pay, then," she said and had to fend off a protest. "No, you've taken me everywhere, to Brooklyn and to the meeting and everything. Think of it as a thanks." she looked at him. "Come on, I want to be able to give something in return."

It was a reluctant acceptance, but an acceptance nonetheless. He put the blanket on the floor and shed a layer of wet clothing which was promptly stretched out on the back of the chair. They left together and she locked the room.

"It ain't right tah make yah pay," he continued as they descended the stairs. There was a piano playing in the corner of the room and she thought for a moment that she recognised the song. But no, it was unfamiliar.

"I told you, it's a thank you. And besides, I'm hungry too. What's the use of eating alone if I can have company?"

He grinned shyly, then was suddenly serious. Pulling out the chair for her, he said, "Jill, I'se sorry 'bout yestahday. I'se didn't t'ink it would get so bad." His face was crestfallen. "I'se real sorry."

"Nah, not your fault. I just wish Jack wouldn't use you and the other boys to follow his purposes." she told him, and he shook his head.

"We's volunteahed tah protect Spot," he said, looking at her with dark eyes from across the table. "I couldn't sit an' watch Spot get hoirt. He scares me, but dat don' mean I won' try tah help him out."

"So what's Jack going to do now?" she asked. She knew she had led him unknowingly onto a path he had refused to discuss last night on the long walk home.

"Well, Race is stayin' in Brooklyn wid Spot right now, fer two reasons."

She had to tread the path carefully or else he would realise what she was doing and stop talking. "What are they?" she asked softly.

"Foirst of all, Race is keepin' an eye out on dah t'ings happenin' aroun' Brooklyn, an' second, he's stayin' wid Spot tah protect him. He's gonna tell Jack everyt'in' dah happens."

"Race and Spot are very close."

"Childhood friends. Dey's known eachuddah fer a real long time an' dey's gets along real well." Mush answered. Then he seemed to realise what he was doing. Not acting angry or rude about it, he picked up a menu and began to read it.

She had been wrong to pry in the first place, glad though she was. But she would not press now, not when he had realised what she was trying to do. However, she did have a better handle on the situation, and for that she was grateful.

"I'm so hungry," she said to Mush, who nodded and continued to read over the menu. Then suddenly she wondered if he could read. Ah, he couldn't as angry as that. He had never refused to talk to her before.

"Everyt'in' looks so good," he said, alleviating her fears. Maybe he simply knew what food the place served, and pretended to read the menu. But he sold papers for a living, it was unlikely that he would have no grasp on the written language.

She did not what to ask, so instead she questioned, "What are you doing after we eat?"

"Going back tah dah Lodgin' House tah be wid Jack." He sipped on the water a waitress had brought around. "Tah help 'im out, yah know?"

"Can I go with you?" she asked. "Please, Mush, I'm so tired of sitting here with no one to talk you. I still haven't met the other boys."

He sighed and suddenly looked very tired. He could have hit her and she would have felt better about herself and less guilty. "If yah want, I'se guess yah could come. But it ain't fun, an' I'se'll pro'lly be busy plannin' t'ings wid Jack."

"It's better than here." she said. "Please, Mush?"

He sighed again and the weariness in his eyes was too much for her. God, how long had he been this way and she had not noticed?

"If yah want, yous can come," he replied. "Dah uddah boys'll keep yah company."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Mush."

The storm had stopped momentarily when they finally made their way out the door. But with the sky still black and threatening, Mush called to her to hurry. Because he spent so much time around the harbour, he was able to pinpoint every passing carriage and she laughed in sweet delight as they jumped from one to another, hanging on as it sped through the cobblestone streets. It was not too far away, and Mush laughed with her as they jumped off, his face flush with a high color. Several boys were standing talking outside the door and at the laughter of the two friends they stopped.

Mush was quiet and straight-faced immediately. Not sure what to think, Jill followed his example.

"Heya, boys," he called out. "Howyah doin'?"

They murmured replies, eyes flickering back and forth between the pair. Perhaps it was only Jill who could see that Mush kept folding and crushing his hat as if he were nervous …

"Dis is Jill, boys. She's gonna stay dah aftahnoon wid us." he said. "Just fer tahday. Jill, dis is Specs, Dutchy, Snitch, Itey," he pointed them out, going down the line. "Snoddy, Pie Eater, Snipeshooter, Boots -- heya, Boots -- Swifty, Bumlets, Crutchy, Skittery, Jake."

There were about a million, or so it felt to her. Completely overwhelmed and intimidated, she waved shyly. Mush stayed close to her as they approached the door as if he sensed her fear.

"Don' worry," he whispered in her ear. "Dey's ain't gonna hoirt yah. Dey's real nice."

She trusted him completely and quietly made an effort to overcome her nervousness. She knew that he would never put her in any sort of danger … even at the meeting, his first concern, and Jack's, had been to get her out of the building. The thought made her feel better.

"Hiya dere, Jill," one of the boys said kindly. Another offered to take her arm and help her through the door even though he was already burdened by a bad leg and the walking stick which evened it out. Their fuss, their concern -- it was sweet and flattering.

They were a flurry of questions. "How long yah been in New York?" called one while another said, "Mushy been treatin' yah good?" and another asked, "Where yah from, I'se can tell yous from outtah tahn?" 

It made her smile. "I can't understand you when you all talk at once." she told them gently, unable to hide that smile away again.

"Sorry, Miss," one of them said and they all stammered their apologises -- all at once.

She laughed. These boys were just as vibrant and different as the ones she had met before, and her affection for them was immediate and full. All of them at once, all gathered around her anxiously awaiting her answers, still intimidated her, but she made herself as bold and confident as possible.

"So," one of them ventured, maybe it was Skittery. "Where yah from?"

"Pittsburgh," she smiled at him. He was very cute. "Right outside of the city."

"Yous evah been tah New York before?" asked another. She thought it might have been Snitch. He was cute, too. Wrongly enough, almost all of them were cute.

"Once, just for a few days, though." she nodded, looking around into their wide-eyed gazes. "Always wanted to come back."

"We's was just talkin' about some pokah, Miss. Yah want dealt in?" Was that Itey?

"Please, call me Jill. And yeah, I'll play." she told them. This room was obviously the lobby. Stairs led up to what she guessed would be the bunkroom, and at the bottom stood an old man behind the desk.

"What've you got there, boys?" asked the old man in a faltering voice. For some reason Jill liked him immediately … around him was a feeling of great warmth, of caring and love.

"Dis is Jill, an' Jill, dis is our lodger Mr. Kloppman. He takes care'a us all." She thought it was Dutchy who spoke.

Kloppman's smile was genuine. "Why, hello there, young lady. Can I help you?" he squinted just a little to be able to see her but they were eyes filled with warm emotion, true kindness.

She politely returned the smile. "No, thanks, Sir. I came with Mush." What else should she say?

"Well, then, any of these boys gives you trouble and you come get me." But he winked, and she felt happy at his presence. It was obvious that although this was his business, he loved these boys without self, his love infinite and gentle. Did fathers even love their own children in this way?

__

Not mine, for sure …

"Heah, take dis seat," someone pulled out a wooden chair for her. Oh, she was about the luckiest girl alive right then, or so she felt. All this fuss, all this courtesy … was it really all for her?

__

Unbelievable. This doesn't exist in my place or my time.

Poker was a good game, luck _always_ fell to her when the cards were dealt. No other game, but poker was a good solid bet for her. Any big money went down on this game, it almost always being a sure thing. Regular five card, that was her best. Simple and quick, the luck always fell to her as the cards flew out. A few fixed games here and there just for the thrill of it as a dealer and she loved to talk fast to her players so that they would not notice the sleight of her hands. As long as it was five card she had no doubts. Good cards or bluff with spirit. Poker face with conviction. Too bad Race wasn't here to get crushed …

"Two pairs, Queen high," she said, putting her cards fanned out on the table. The other boys gaped at her as she smugly looked up. "I win, boys."

Fast game, fast talk … she loved the thrill of betting and bluffing, dealing and winning. But it did not seem right to take the money from those poor boys … her hand crept out to cover the pile of coins and after she drew it back, she divided it evenly amongst them.

One of them laughed. "Yah shoah ain't no strangah tah dah game," he said, looking at her with a big, embarrassed grin. She only nodded, then her poker face broke and she laughed, too.

"Nope, it's my best." she told him. "My only good one."

"Well, den, we's gonna hafta get Race tah teach yah some skill at dah uddahs, ain't we?" Was that Specs?

This was definitely Crutchy. "Oh, yeah, yah should see our Racetrack wid 'is cards," he said excitedly. "He ain't nevah lost'a game tah us. T'ink 'e lost tah Spot once, but maybe I ain't remembahing right."

She smiled at the animated speaker. A gimp leg, but he was more energetic and lively than most people she had known from home. The variation between these boys each as individuals was incredible … a roomful of imagination and pride and loyalty … what a shame that they were on the streets and not at the heads of companies and other industry.

"Is there -- is there a bathroom here?"

A few looked surprised at the straight-forwardness of the question. "Up dah stairs tah dah left," finally came an answer. 

__

Well, it's not as if they don't ever have to piss, she thought but did not say as she bounded up the stairs. She realised, half-shamed, that she was dressed in what was all but the underwear of the times. What had the boys thought when she had showed up with Mush? Her face burned at the thought.

She saw the bathroom, a wash-room, really, with a collective sink and three or four flush toilets. But next to that, on the right, sat what was obviously the bunkroom, and two soft voices floated through the doorway to her ears. Under any other circumstances, she would not have done it, but because at least the first voice was familiar, and because she was already fond of Mush's friends, she listened quietly in the hallway.

"An' I dunno, I'se waitin' fer Race tah get back an' tell me wha' he's seein' in Brooklyn."

"You can't make him into a spy, that's wrong and it puts Racetrack in danger. And us."

"I can't let it alone, dough. You know dat, an' so do dah rest a'dah boys. Dey's bein' real good about it, Dave." The softness had returned to the voice. It was true regret, true affection. "Dey knows dis ain't dere fault, an' dey's willin' tah help out."

She had not even made a sound but Jack Kelly came walking from the room. Quickly she turned to the washroom but it was too late. A reprimand she would have expected, and would have deserved, but Jack's voice made her freeze. Jack's gentleness stopped her in her tracks.

"Hey, Jill," he said, smiling slightly. "Howyah doin', kid?"

What was she supposed to think of him? If he had been angry she would have been almost relieved. But the kindness in the language of his body, the level of understanding to his speech … "Good, Jack," she said with genuine warmth. "How about you?"

"Good, good," he said, even though he looked tired and frustrated. A tall, curly-haired boy with big blue eyes was peering over Jack's shoulder with an expression that was half worried, half curious. "Jill, dis is Davey. Dave, dis is Jill. She's one'na Mushy's friends."

It was clear from the caution in Davey's eyes that he was part of the brains behind every function in which Jack partook. _A constant worrier, sometimes grating on Jack's last nerve like a bad toothache, probably_. But Davey gave her a polite smile and stood a little awkwardly in her presence.

"I was just coming up for the bathroom," she said, shaken at last, pointing to the washroom.

Jack one hand behind him, gestured with his other. "You've found it. Home sweet home," he laughed then, motioning around him to the modest surroundings.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Thanks. Nice to meet you, David." With a respectful bow of her head and a fragment of her earlier smile, she turned the corner into the bathroom.

All the stupid clothing of the times … _how do these women manage_? She peeled away layer after layer of skirt and untied knot after knot. This was ridiculous, and it was heavy -- even her underskirts were thick and uncomfortable, but less so than the real thing. The red T-shirt at least, that was bearable. But this other stuff? No. Something _had_ to be done. 

It was with a feeling of great satisfying relief that she exited the stall. The white wooden door swung open at her touch and she bathed her hands in a pan of water sitting next to an old razor. She had never before been inside of the Lodging House and now that she could see the boys' articles of everyday life, she was very interested in what all the rooms had to offer. But it was wrong to pry, so with her curiosity controlled with an iron will, she went downstairs. 

The games were still going strong and the boys beckoned her for another game. For an instant she considered refusing but what else was there to do? They divided to let her have a look at the dealing table.

"Here, I'm going to teach you a little game called Texas Hold 'Em," she said, collecting the cards. "It's poker, but different."

"You said five card was yer good game," someone called, but she shook her head.

"I'm alright at anything poker, but Hold 'Em is fun. Just wait, it's easy." With that, she dealt in five players with two cards apiece and put out a penny as an opener. "The trick is to get pairs. Now put in a bet, or check, and I'll flop."

"Yah'll _what_?" exclaimed a voice.

"I'll turn over three community cards we'll all share and then we can bet higher stakes if the pickings look better. Just stay in for a round, you don't have to start with good stuff."

Her hands knew cards well, and she barely had to look as she turned them and motioned to the community pile. The pot grew larger and larger as the boys became more and more confident but she lost only one game, and even then she had become reckless rather than unlucky. At one point she was two cards from a royal flush but the next round saw her with a straight. Not bad, and twenty cents poured in to her when Skittery thought it could get no better than a pair of aces.

"Sorry," she grinned, pulling the giant pot toward herself. "Straight high wins."

Skittery ogled at her cards. "I dunno if even Race could hold 'is own next tah yah."

She played often enough to understand her freakish luck when it came to poker, although she was occasionally still amazed at her perfect hands. For the most part, however, it was all the usual to her.

"I'll have to ask him for a game when he gets back," she said, throwing out another giant bet on her ace and king.

It was her final win but she left her winnings on the table. "Nah, I don't want them. You boys keep them. It was your first rounds of the game. I know it better than you do." Of course they chivalrously refused to split her winnings, arguing instead that it was only right she keep what she earned, but when she slowly drew away through the crowd, almost unnoticed as the boys clamoured to deal for the next game of Texas Hold 'Em, she left the money on the table.

There was a bench near the window and she sat down to rest for a moment. Outside she could see Jack with Mush, Blink, and Davey, all talking quietly, sitting around a statue of Horus Greenly. She gazed at Mush. His face looked so studious, so thoughtful … his wits must have been much quicker than she first suspected if her was this close to Jack and he was this involved in the affairs of New York. Which boy's words carried the most weight with Jack, or did they all count for the same?

A shadow over her … "Mind if I sit, Miss?" the boy asked politely, hat clutched in his hands.

She nodded. "Sure --"

"It's Snitch," he said immediately, sensing that she needed a name. She smiled. There were so many, she could not be expected to remember all their names right away.

"Sure, Snitch."

She felt his tall weight on the bench next to her and she moved aside slightly to allow him some room.

He smiled in a friendly manner. "Mushy's tawked about yah befoah, but we's t'ought 'e was makin' up stuff."

"Really?"

"Yeah, an' we's all was wonderin' where 'e was headed off tah so early in dah mornin'." Snitch told her. "'E was up befoah usual an' we's didn' know why."

"He's usually already sold most of his papers before I see him. And I'm up pretty early most of the time, for some reason."

"Weah yah stayin'?" he asked. Skittery was looking their way, too.

"A little train stopover on the harbour." she answered. "It's not a bad place."

All the boys still made her nervous, and she was glad for the one-on-one talk for which Snitch had given her the opportunity.

"How long yah been heah?"

"About six days now. Not long, although I was so bored staying in that little room. Nothing to do, and no one to talk to."

"Yous should tell dah boys weah yer stayin', an' we's'll drop by tah visit, den. Yous can always come heah an' talk tah us. Besides Sarah, we's don' get many goils comin' tah see us."

"Who's Sarah?"

"She's Jack's goil. Been tahgeddah since dah Strike in July. Davey's sistah, if yous met him yet."

"Yeah, just today," she said. "He's Jack's friend."

"Yeah, 'cept he's goin' back tah school like befoah. Means he won' be sellin' papes wid us no moah."

She nodded. "Why was he out of school?"

"Faddah got hoirt real bad in dah factahry. But s'all bettah now, an' Davey's gotta start school again. Shame, he was a real good guy."

"He's not coming back to see you guys?"

"Well, yeah," Snitch nodded earnestly. "But wid school woirk, he's not gonna be 'round as of'en. Jack'll be hoirt by dat one. Loves Davey, he does. Like broddahs."

She nodded, quiet again, and gazed back out the window at the group of boys talking outside. Jack was consulting Davey, and the others were listening intently.

Skittery approached tentatively and motioned to the bench. "Mind?" he asked courteously.

Both Snitch and Jill moved to the right. He sat at her other side and she smiled … _surrounded by cute guys_ … how often did this happen to her?

"Yer gonna hafta gimme some pokah lessons, Miss," the second boy said in an exasperated voice. His good-natured frustration was obvious.

She shrugged. "It's all in the cards." But then she added, "I can teach you how much money to throw down."

"Yah usually play fer big money?"

"Yeah, although I do lose on occasion. Not too often, though," she said and smiled. "I'm still pretty shaky on Texas Hold 'Em."

"Well, yah coirtenly didn' look it just den," Skittery said with the look of a controlled bad mood and Snitch laughed.

"Ah, lighten up, you," he said and reached across Jill to gently punch Skittery on the shoulder. Snitch's hair was all mused from his hat and he looked wonderfully young to her. They were all so fantastic, no wonder Mush loved them so much. Painfully, they reminded her of her own beautiful friends.

Her friends … without them she was half a person, half the imagination, half the happiness. Being without them was the exact same as being without her legs … everyday at home she had maintained some line of contact with them because time without them was like time in a slow death. Whether it was a text message, a phone call, or the occasional e-mail, she had talked in some way with them every day. There was nothing more she loved than spending the day with them, just being near them. At their homes she felt safe, protected, loved. She owed them the world, and would gladly give it to them -- whatever they asked, it was theirs. Sometimes she felt awkward at being unable to express her love for them, it ran so deep and true. Her friends, her beautiful friends, they were her universe, they were the only things that kept her rooted to her home because she knew she could never leave them. Without them near her, she would have been gone a long time ago. Was it that way with Mush?

"Yeah, dey's plannin' dah next move," Skittery said softly, seeing her blank gaze turned to the boys outside. She turned her head back to him.

"The next move?" she asked, then bit her lip. Always so many questions … at what point would they finally become impatient with her?

But he and Snitch seemed perfectly at ease, perfectly relaxed, perfectly calm. "Yeah, tah try tah unite dah districts." Skittery answered and Snitch nodded to agree, then added, "Since no one's gettin' along, we's tryin' tah protect Spot 'til Brooklyn gets organised. Brooklyn's dah key tah dah whole fight. Us'lly no 'un moves 'til Spot moves. S'all differen' now since dah body's been found."

She nodded, considering. If only she could break down the wall around Spot and hear the whole story … if only Mush would really tell her the entire plan. He should trust me, he's told me other things, she thought, the slightest bit angry. But when she thought of the meeting, of all those jeering dirty faces, her anger softened then faded. Mush was trying to protect her as best as he could. He did not want to endanger her in any way, and at the same time he was trying to make her comfortable, make her happy.

"Look, heah dey come," Snitch said anxiously, then stood and shouted. "Stand up now, boys, dey's comin' back tah tell us dah plan!"

There was the sudden noise of chairs scraping the ground as they were pushed aside by the boys who now clamoured to stand up and catch a glimpse of Jack and the rest. The door opened and in strolled Jack with the others proudly following.

Silence as Jack paused to look at the dealing table. Jill realised how wonderful he was as a speaker and she wondered how he had acquired the skill. He turned his head to look at them and seemed to consider for an instant before starting.

"We's maybe gotta'n answer tah dah problem," Jack called and every boy straightened at his words. "But I need tah know wha' yous t'inks a' wha' we's wanna do."

Jill suddenly felt a hand on her arm. Turning, she saw Mush. "Come one, we's bettah go."

She really wanted to stay and hear but it was not her place to argue, especially not in front of his friends. "Alright," she agreed reluctantly as she allowed herself to be led from the room.

"Bye, Miss," a few of the boys whispered as she passed in front of them, pulled along by Mush's iron grip which encircled her wrist tightly. She waved and smiled kindly, no choice but to follow her friend.

Outside it was much cooler with a comfortable breeze and she took a deep breath.

"I like your friends," she said immediately. His grip was almost crushing her wrist and she struggled to pull away. He realised he was hurting her and released instantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said fretfully as she rubbed the ugly red mark on her arm. "Sometimes I don' realise me own strength."

"It's alright," she assured him. "No worries, no worries." Then she shot a glance to the Lodging House. "Can I visit them again sometime?"

He frowned. "I'se told Jack wha' yous said about yer aunt," he announced with a deliberate firmness. "He said dah same as me, he ain't too happy wid dat."

"Doesn't matter," she said stubbornly. This freedom was what she had always wanted and no one was going to take it away from her.

But his words were not to be taken lightly. "Yah can't go doin' dis no moah. I'se gonna look at some nice places closah tah heah an' we's gonna put yous up so's yous'll be neah tah us."

"I want to stay where I am. I'm not moving."

"Yah don' undahstand, Jill," he said with an even deeper frown. "Yah can't be cut off from us, all isolated, like. Dat ain't gonna woirk no moah."

"But you sell on the harbour --"

"Don' maddah. T'ings could be changin' soon an' wha' wouldyah do den?" he asked. She took a seat on the base of the statue and he gave a sigh. "I'se real sorry, Jill. Times ain't good tah any'a us no moah."

"Aw, Mush, please don't make me move. If you really want, I will, but I'd prefer not to travel all through New York carrying my stuff. I'm not that far to begin with, anyway."

"I know, I know," he said with a regretfully understanding tone. "But dat's what I want, an' dat's what Jack says. Please?" he asked. "I'll carry it all, yous don' hafta lift a fingah. Come one, Jill, fer me?"

__

It's those eyes, damn it, she swore as she looked at him. Usually she would battle wills with him, but she found that she could not. She sighed heavily, tiredly. "If you want me to, I'll move."

He smiled and his eyes crinkled. She loved the warmth of his smile, the friendliness. "T'anks, Jill. Dis way it'll all be safer. An' we'll be closah dat way."

They started off for her apartment, talking softly. A good portion of they day had already passed and the skies were still black, threatening to open up and pour down at any minute. She matched him, stride for stride, as the harbour loomed into view.

"I hope dah guys was good tah yah," he said earnestly. "Hope dey's treated yah real nice an' ever't'in."

"Yeah, I like them," she replied, walking along beside him, with a tone that was completely and openly honest. "Nothing but the best manners. Nice guys, Mush, I really like your friends. Can I visit them sometime?"

"We's'll see," he said. He must have realised how controlling he sounded because his voice dropped a few pitches to a velvety softness and he said, "T'ings ain't so safe anymoah wid Spot caught up in dis whole situation. Sometimes I dunno if it's safe tah let yah come neah us."

"Oh, no, you can't leave me by myself. Mush, I am so lonely. You have no idea. You live in a house full of your friends. Me … I'm all on my own." Then she felt a pang of guilt for placing this burden upon him. Quietly, she added, "But whatever you think is best." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I trust you."

His giant eyes were full of gentle tenderness. "Don' worry, Jill. I'se'll fix dis an' yous can have anyt'in' yous wants. I promise yah, okay?" He looked her straight in the eye, waiting for an honest answer. Both of her hands were hidden in his.

She hesitated for a second, thinking. Finally she nodded. "Alright, Mush. Can I see you tomorrow?"

"I'se'll come tah get yah, den." he told her and released her hands. "Yah'd bettah go in befoah it starts tah rain again. Go ahead." he said gently, watching as she went in.

From her window she watched his retreating back, wishing that she was not alone, wishing that he was not leaving her again … 


	7. Chapter SEVEN

Oh, God, what to even say? I hope my readers are still out there, cause you guys totally rock my world. I don't expect you to forgive me for not updating this thing for almost a year, but at least maybe consider that stuff happened (search for college, dad out of work, my own work, graduation, family death, no inspiration at all for this, etc, etc). Yeah, but I am trying to write a bit at a time of this, now that I am back at work in the same place at which I wrote almost this entire story so far. Please, if you read this, review. If you hate me, it's cool, I hate that I did this to my readers, honestly, I do. But thanks, and regards. All the best!

_**Just One (New York, New York)**_

_**  
**_  
SEVEN  
  
Sunlight. Birds chirping. People gathering.  
  
Morning again. She rolled over and put a hand on her aching forehead. In the corner sat the full tub she had used to bathe last night before she went to sleep. For a moment she eyed it with blurry vision, then resigned herself to getting out of bed.  
  
Today she should shop, she thought as she stretched. For all her cleaning the other night (was it yesterday? Oh, how the days were blurring now), the room was a mess again. She glanced around. The soaked clothing Mush had left on the chair was still there and it was dry now; the tub was occupying and entire corner; blankets kicked away in the middle of the night were strewn everywhere; and her own clothing speckled the room in random places. She smiled wryly. And interesting mix of possessions and articles.  
  
She pulled the curtain open to see the full glory of the newly-crowned day. It was bright and sunny, the storms and rain of yesterday forgotten in this changed condition. Last night when the darkness had prevented her from leaving her room, she had bathed and washed all her clothing, and Mush's, too, except for his green shirt that she loved. If she washed it, it would lose his scent. And at night, when she was all alone and frightened by the thoughts of a seemingly-impossible future, she needed something to reassure her.  
  
Pulling a brush through her hair, she peered outside. Standing below, under the extinquished street lamp on the corner, she was shocked to see – but who? – a group of newsboys all talking quietly, one pointing off-handedly to her window. Immediately she ducked, hoping they had not yet seen her.  
  
As quickly as possible she dressed and brushed her teeth. She sneaked over to pull the curtains shut and then left just as quickly, locking the door behind her. Again she was clothed in half of the full attire, unwilling to be so hot and uncomfortable as all that. The real stuff was too heavy and made her feel sluggish and dull.  
  
"Oh, heya there," called a voice with layers of toughness filtering through it. She remembered his name as being Kid Blink and had seen firsthand that this particular boy, like Mush and Racetrack and Davey, had a place close to Jack. But Jack was not here. Instead it was Skittery, Snitch, and Blink. Mush was not in her presence, either, and Racetrack was most likely still in Brooklyn. Crestfallen, she turned back to the three boys.  
  
"Hey," she said in greeting. "What are you doing this far from the Lodging House?"  
  
"Jack's ordahs. Said tah come an' scope out dah area," Blink answered. "Gotta see who sells 'round heah. Close tah Brooklyn, dis is."  
  
"Mush sells here but I've never seen anyone else," she answered. "Where is everyone else?"  
  
"Eh, just us fer now," Skittery said, smoking occasionally on a hand-rolled cigar. "If you's lookin' fer Mush, Jack wanted 'im an' Davey tah stay behind an' heah Spot's page from Brooklyn."  
  
She nodded, silent. Snitch gave her a quick, friendly smile in acknowledgement of her presence, which she returned, glad for his company. Finally she asked, "Did something happen?"  
  
"Nah, not yet. Too soon fer dah uddah districts tah move. Gotta giant mass tah get movin' fahward." Skittery said. She hadn't realized before how tall he was, and wonderfully lean.  
  
"But Spot's sendin' a few messengah's just tah tell Jack dah daily news. Gotta make shoah Race's okay." Blink told her. He did not look malicious anymore, or intimidating. Was it just her imagination, or did his eyes hold the slightest bit of fear?  
  
Her mind was full of quick comprehension and flickering thoughts. Too many nights such things had kept her from her sleep, and now she was filling slowly with silent observation and dignified terror.  
  
She nodded. "Of course."  
  
"Jack asked that yah keep a low profile 'til we sort dis mess out," Blink told her. "Yah know, since you's was at dat last meetin' an' everything. Don' want no one tah get dah wrong idea about yah."  
  
"Keep a low profile?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, stay away from dah streets," Snitch offered, not being unkind. "You's ain't dealin' wid no gentlemen and ladies, you's dealin' wid orphans an' guttah snipes. An' dey don' hesitate to hurt a person."  
  
Her heart fell. She was by no means a delicate creature, a fragile flower. Unbeknownst to these boys, she had, in her own time, been the subject of pain and torment. Physically, if the need arose, she could be brutish and angry.  
  
Skittery's voice showed her some sympathy. "It ain't nothin' tah stress about, Miss. Mushy said he'd come tah see yah latah."  
  
They all mumbled, as if ashamed by some rude speech. "It ain't yah fault," one of them said. Blink spoke up. "But have a good day, an' we's'll see yah before too long. I'm sorry, Miss."  
  
There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. But in all reality, she knew they were only looking out for her safety. Her presence had presented them with another unneeded burden, and she thought it was selfish of herself to ask them for something more.  
  
_Selfishness and jealousy_, she thought. _They were always two of my biggest faults. I need to block them out.  
_  
But even so, as she waved good-bye to them and watched their retreating backs, she could not stem the tide of her rising anger.  
  
_Too many times I've watched them walk away_, she thought, clenching her fists. I_ always seem to be the one doing the watching, and I am sick and tired of it.  
_  
_What can I do?_ she asked herself. Then an idea fell upon her._ I know, I know...  
_  
The boys disappeared into the distance.  
  
_It all ends tonight..._

TRUE TO HER OWN PROMISE TO HERSELF, Jillian slipped from her roof as the sun set. The city looked different at night, less crowded, and, to a strange degree, less inviting. But she had taken notice of the locations she needed and in her pocket was a good amount of change to pay for it all.  
  
Shapes moved inside of all the apartments and the tenements. She watched mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. Children were put to rest, lamps were extinguished. But for Jill, the night had just begun.  
  
This was not the New York City she had known in her own time. This was no empire of grey and height. Instead the city was stone and dirt, and in the lower-class areas of the town such as the place through which she now traveled, there decidedly was a stale smell of piss, sweat, and alcohol. And at night, the darkest corners and alleys were crawling with persons of ill-repute. But then again, even in her own time, that wasn't so unusual.  
  
Many of the shops and eateries were closed at such a late hour, but the smallest and perhaps the poorest were still open, trying desperately to attract patrons. She figured that one place was as good as another, though, and that it didn't matter where she paid her money as long as she did indeed pay for what she needed. Clothing was clothing, and there was no reason to agonise over what could not be helped. Even the cheap stuff would do.  
  
The burning lamps inside of the dry goods store momentarily blinded her eyes, but then she smiled...  
  
_It all ends tonight..._


End file.
